Papercuts
by BreakingFable
Summary: After the Royal Rumble, Jeff is left feeling broken, while Matt recruits Edge in a plot to destroy his brother.
1. Chapter 1

Jeff stared into the mirror, his eyes red and bleary. He pushed the hair out of his eyes, wincing at the pain his aching head was causing him.

"God dammit", he swore under his breath.

He looked like shit, and felt no better. He couldn't sleep, he wasn't eating properly.

He sighed and dropped his head into his hands. He had to resolve this situation.

Matt wouldn't talk to him. He wouldn't answer his calls, he wouldn't look at him when they were backstage together. Jeff was pissed, and he was hurt, and he didn't understand why his older brother was acting like this.

For the thousandth time, the young Hardy thought back to the Royal Rumble. Everything had changed that night. He'd been so sure that he would win. He hadn't been at all afraid of losing his belt, going into that match. And then Matt had shown up, and his victory had seemed imminent.

He'd never seen it coming.

He steadied himself on the sink for a moment, not wanting to think about it anymore.

A crash and loud laughter from the room beyond the closed bathroom door brought him back from his brooding, and he sighed heavily. He truly had no desire to join the small party that had started up in his hotel room, but John Morrison was his roommate, and the guy had invited some friends over. There was nothing for it. Jeff put his best plastic smile on, and exited the bathroom.

There were drunk wrestlers sprawled out all over the room, some in the throes of heated make-out sessions, others dancing badly to horrible techno music, a few talking in the corner. When John saw Jeff come out, he immediately made a beeline for him.

"Hey man, where've you been hiding? Maryse was looking for you." He nudged him suggestively.

Jeff made a face of utter disgust. "John, I know you think you're Mr. Ladies Man, and all, but never, _never_ try and set me up with Maryse." He leaned in conspiratorially, looking around to see if anyone else was listening. Looking back at a curious John, he whispered, "I think _she's _a man."

John burst out laughing, and slapped Jeff on the back. "I think I need another beer. You?"

Jeff shook his head. He decided this would be a perfect time to slip out. Maybe he could find another room to sleep in. He could take not one second longer of Kelly Kelly tonguing The Miz over there. Mark was down the hall, and probably wide fucking awake from all the noise.

Mark's room it was.

* * * * * * *

Matt had been hiding. He could admit that he had been avoiding his god damned little brother since he'd hit that angelic face of his with the steel chair.

No more.

A change had occurred in him that night. In an instant, he'd been transformed. He had looked down on the unconscious body of his brother, and felt absolutely no remorse for the pain he'd caused him. In fact, he'd only wanted to cause more. He'd seen Jeff's innocent, sleeping face, and wanted to beat it bloody, beat it until there was nothing recognizable left.

He'd had to force himself to leave the ring at the Royal Rumble. If he hadn't left when he did… well, Jeff might've lost more than his title. His little brother had no idea how lucky he was.

Matt didn't know what caused this change. He didn't understand why one minute, he would've killed anyone who looked at Jeff sideways, and the next, he was trying to beat his head in with steel objects. The very sound of his younger brother's name infuriated him.

All he did know was that it wasn't over. Not by a long shot. He thought about the many sleights his career had suffered, in favor of his lazy, screw-up brother.

Matt Hardy wanted to punch something, wanted to destroy something.

"Hey Matty, where the fuck've you been?", laughed a hated, sleazy voice from behind his left shoulder. Matt turned, slowly, to face Adam "Edge" Copeland. He'd just come into the shitty hotel bar that Matt was currently drinking in, though he looked as if he'd already had quite a few.

Matt didn't hesitate. He punched the Rated R Superstar square in the jaw, causing his head to fly back with force.

"What the fuck?!", cried Adam, rubbing his jaw in pain.

Matt grabbed Adam by the throat, ready to pummel the shit out of him. He suddenly froze, a predatory grin spreading slowly across his face.

"What?", asked Edge, too freaked out to move.

Matt dropped his fist, and smoothed out any imaginary wrinkles he might've caused on Adam's shirt.

"I have an idea", the older Hardy smiled wistfully, "and you can help me."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So, Chapter 1 was brief, but it began to set things up. What the hell is cooking in Matt's little noggin? Read on to find out…**

**WWE owns all, I own nothing. Thanks to all who review.**

Edge entered the main doors of the hotel, his movements wooden and his breaths slightly ragged. He was sporting the beginnings of a black eye, and his curly blonde locks were a disheveled mess, despite his usual meticulous grooming habits. His face wore an expression of weary disgust. He wanted to fucking to kill Matt Hardy.

When Adam Copeland had left the hotel earlier that evening, he'd been eager for the rush that only copious amounts of alcohol can give.

But if he'd been drunk before, he wasn't now. Matt Hardy's little psychotic rant had made sure of that.

_"You're gonna help me destroy my brother"_, he'd said.

"_No, I'm not. You two wanna fuck each other up? I'm not against it. That's two less assholes I need to defend my title against. But I am not getting involved._"

Matt had leaned in, a dangerous glint in his eyes. _"And what if you lost your precious title? What if you lost the only reason you have that title in the first place?"_

_"Vicki?"_, Adam breathed, unable to believe Matt was going this far with his little tantrum. Adam smirked. _"What're you gonna do, Hardy? Kill her and bury her under her desk?"_

_"Don't fucking tempt me." _Adam had never seen Matt like this. He was serious. It was starting to make him really uncomfortable.

The Rated R Superstar had tried to adapt a casual persona. "_So what do you have in mind for poor Jeffy_?"

Matt smiled. "_I'll let you know_."

Adam thought over the conversation again, and found himself torn. Should he warn Jeff that shit was coming his way? After all, he didn't _really_ like the younger Hardy, and he currently _was_ in contention for _his_ belt, but did he really deserve to be taken apart by a psycho?

Edge sighed bitterly. When had he grown a conscience?

He felt like he needed another drink.

* * * * * * *

Jeff woke slowly from a sleep filled with disturbing half-dreams. Unmoving grayscale patterns and familiar shadows lingered on the edge of his vision. He blinked open sleep-gummed eyes, wincing in the bright morning light.

Something hit him in the face.

"Get up, kid", urged a gruff voice from across the room.

Jeff pulled the t-shirt off of his forehead, and sat up. "Mornin', Deadman", he said to the Undertaker, who was sipping a cup of the terrible hotel coffee while trying to tame his mop of long, unruly hair with a much-abused comb.

The young Hardy rose, and stretched his limber muscles, trying to work out the kinks from sleeping on the floor. He threw on his shirt then, readying himself to head back to his room for a shower.

"You snore, Hardy", grumbled Mark, "Kept me up half the damn night."

Jeff smiled shyly, his eyes glinting with mischief.

"Yeah, sorry about that", he said, "Guess I've just always been a terrible roommate."

The Undertaker paused in his task to turn and glare at the younger man for a second, before resuming his slow and torturous grooming.

"You should start from the bottom, when you're trying to get knots out", advised Jeff, who was sniffing the coffee to see if he wanted to brave drinking any, "Otherwise, you'll just make the tangles worse."

The Deadman just let out an inarticulate grunt in response.

The young Hardy moved away from the coffee and sat down heavily on the bed. "So, Mark, can I ask you something?"

The big man stopped what he was doing, and turned to Jeff. He studied his young friend. Now that he really was looking at him in the light of day, he realized that he looked terrible. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he was deathly pale. Mark frowned. He obviously hadn't been sleeping, or eating as much as he should.

"Sure, kid. Shoot."

"Have you ever been really, really close with anyone, and then lost them? Like Glen, have you two ever fought?" Jeff looked up at Taker with huge, despair-filled green eyes.

Mark furrowed his brow in concern. "Fighting is an unfortunate part of all relationships. Glen's my brother. We fight all the time, but we always make up." He looked closely at Jeff's face. "Why do you ask?"

The younger man shook his head. "Matt and I used to be like that. We'd fight, and we'd be fine five minutes later. But now…" He trailed off, and looked away miserably. "What did I do to make Matt hate me so much?", he said softly.

Mark was taken aback. "Why would you think that your brother hates you?"

Jeff's face fell. "He won't even fucking look at me, Mark. He hasn't talked to me since the Rumble. I don't know what to do." He looked up at his friend, his face shadowed by weary desperation.

Mark sat down next to him on the bed, and wrapped a strong arm around his shoulders. "Matt doesn't want to see you right now because he knows what he did was wrong, and he's not ready to pay the piper yet. He doesn't hate you. He's just being a coward. He'll get over it eventually, Jeffro, and he'll ask you to forgive him." He beamed at Jeff, who smiled shakily back. "Time heals all wounds. Remember that."

Mark stood then, and ruffled the younger man's blue and red hair.

"Time for a shower. You stink, kiddo."

Jeff mock-glared, and moved to leave, trying to fix the mess that the Undertaker had made of his hair.

He turned back.

"Thanks, Deadman."

"Anytime, kid."

* * * * * * *

The catering hall backstage at the arena was full of superstars, milling around, socializing, and having light dinners before their matches that night. Triple H and Umaga chatted amicably in the corner, discussing stocks, and how much they'd lost this year as a result of the terrible economy. Big Show, Vickie Guerrero, and Chavo were going over the script for that night's opening segment. Vickie thought it would be prudent to add a few extra "Excuse Me's", for good measure. Adam was preening in the corner, fixing his hair and ensuring that his bruises were covered with well-placed makeup.

Matt was sitting in a folding chair, staring fixedly at the double doors. He looked as if he were waiting for something to happen. Or, for someone in particular to enter.

A loud shriek echoed throughout the room, causing heads to jerk towards the back corner. Maria, Kelly Kelly, and The Miz were throwing food at each other, and laughing hysterically. The other superstars, used to their annoying antics, just rolled their eyes and turned back to whatever it was that they'd been doing.

"They get anything on me, I'll twist their heads off", grumbled Triple H sourly.

Suddenly, one of the doors opened, and Jeff slipped in. Looking around, he made a beeline for the soups and sandwiches table. He didn't notice Matt in the shadows, getting up from his seat.

Jeff wasn't overly hungry; he really hadn't been in days. But he had promised Mark that he would eat something. So, he ladled some chicken soup into a Styrofoam cup, and grabbed a plastic spoon. Turning, he moved to go and find a seat. And nearly smacked right into his brother.

The older Hardy barely looked like himself. He'd lost all the warmth in his expression. His eyes raked over Jeff's face, as if seeing it for the first time.

"Matt-", he started, wanting to say something to cut the tension. He could feel the eyes of their fellow wrestlers on them both; they were being closely watched.

"Shut up, Jeff", Matt interrupted softly, shocking his younger brother into silence, "If you want an apology, I have no intentions of-"

"I don't care about that!", said Jeff, his voice desperate, "I just want to make this right."

Matt leaned in, closer. "If you want to make it right, Jeffy, then I'm afraid there's only one thing you can do." He paused, looking deep into his brother's dark green eyes. "Go back in time, and find a way to ensure that you had been stillborn. Then, I never would've had to take care of a sniveling fuck-up for the entirety of my adult life." The words were spoken with cruel and utter sincerity. Jeff flinched with each syllable.

Matt turned, and began to walk away. "Bye, Jeffro."

Jeff stared after his brother, unable to believe what had just occurred. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. He felt his limp fingers drop the soup he'd been holding to the ground. It splattered everywhere, but he didn't even take notice.

Strong fingers laced slowly onto his quivering shoulder. "Hey, kid."

He flinched at the contact, and at the voice. He tried to pull out of the person's grip, but to no avail.

"Let go of me", Jeff said, staring at his brother, who was sitting casually on the other end of the room.

"Come on, kid, you don't need to be here anymore." The voice was gentle, but firm. The hands were guiding him away.

"Let… GO OF ME, GOD DAMMIT!!!!!", Jeff struggled, punching and kicking. All he could see was his brother. All he could hear were Matt's cruel words.

A slap rained down across his face, bringing him immediately to his senses. He blinked. The Undertaker held him firmly by the shoulders, looking down at him with sad eyes. Tentatively, the big man reached out and rubbed a thumb across Jeff's cheek. It came away wet with tears. Movement had ceased in the congenial catering hall, and the superstars were now staring, and whispering. Jeff couldn't stand it. They thought he was out of his mind, that he was fucked up on drugs.

The young Hardy pulled roughly out of Mark's grip, and walked briskly out of the catering hall, head down. The moment he'd gone, everyone began talking at once.

Matt watched the scene with extreme satisfaction. Breaking his little brother's spirit was going to prove easier than he'd originally believed.

* * * * * * *


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Matt is turning into a real dick. I just love it! I love this storyline! Thank you for making the Hardys fight, WWE! It's so much fun to watch.**

**Thank you reviewers, you make it much more fun to write this.**

**As always, the WWE owns all, I own not a thing.**

Jeff sat on a lounge chair next to the pool, puffing on a cigarette. It was around three in the morning, and there was a light, misting rain covering everything in a layer of cold moisture. Ignoring the inclement weather, the young Hardy stared fixedly into the dark water of the pool. His face was completely expressionless.

He'd lost track of how long he'd been out here, but he didn't care. He couldn't go back into the hotel. Ever since the incident occurring two days earlier, every superstar on the roster was looking at him with either suspicion or pity in their eyes. He would enter a room, and talking would cease completely. He'd become nothing more than a freak to be gaped at, an object of public scrutiny.

He took a long, deep drag of his cigarette. He wondered if Matt was enduring the same bullshit. He wouldn't know, however, because he hadn't seen him since that awful day in the catering hall.

Jeff was still trying to sort out all of the raging emotions at work in him. His brother had told him, in front of a rapt audience, that he basically wished he was dead. How should one feel about that? The young Hardy had thought about calling his father and talking this through with him, but had immediately dismissed the idea. He didn't want to drag their dad into this fight. Let him think it was all just an act for TV.

Jeff didn't know what to do about any of this. He just felt lost.

"Kid, what're you doing out here? I've been looking for you all night", a soft, gravelly voice sounded from behind Jeff.

The young Hardy didn't turn around. He shivered in the night air, as if realizing for the first time that it was cold. "I don't want to go in there", he said quietly, looking down.

Mark joined Jeff poolside, taking a seat in another of the uncomfortable lounge chairs. He faced the younger man, studying him closely.

"If you're worried about those other assholes, well, don't. They're always lookin' for something to gossip about, like little cheerleaders, and you're currently the most interesting topic of conversation. They'll move on. And if they don't, I'll set 'em straight, real quick."

Jeff smiled softly at the older man's candor. He was never afraid to kick anyone's ass, ever.

The young Hardy looked at Mark, and the Deadman could see that his eyes were red and puffy, as if he'd been crying.

"My brother fucking hates me, Mark, and there's nothing I can do to change his mind", Jeff said, his voice unsteady.

"Have you seen him?"

"No, and I'm not sure what I would say if I did. This entire situation is fucked up, beyond anything I've ever had to deal with before. I just don't know what his problem is."

Mark shook his head. "Only Matt knows what his problem is, and he ain't sayin'."

Jeff gave a bitter smirk. "I don't understand how he could possibly change so much overnight, and then blame it on me."

The Undertaker raised his eyebrow. "Well, I've always thought your brother was a bit of an asshole. All of this bullshit he's pulling now just proves it."

Jeff couldn't help it. He laughed.

Mark's face broke into a crooked half-smile, and he moved forward to lightly ruffle his young friend's sopping wet hair.

"You're gonna be fine, kid. Just fine."

* * * * * * *

Edge was sneaking, skulking, keeping to the shadows. However you wanted to put it, he was trying to avoid Matt fucking Hardy, and had actually managed to do so for two whole days, ever since that ridiculous incident in the arena's catering hall. He had watched with a horrible fascination, just like everyone else on the roster, as Matt had picked his little brother apart, piece by fucking piece. Jeff hadn't taken it too well. He'd looked like something had snapped in his brain. He'd gone ballistic, trying to beat the shit out of the Undertaker, of all people, who had moved forward to help him out of the room. Ah, drama. The locker room whores had loved that little scene. Gossip, gossip, gossip. Poor Jeffrey.

Adam would've loved to go out tonight, but he knew that all of the other wrestlers, including Matt fucking Hardy, patronized the same haunts he did. He preferred to let this whole "I've been recruited to help kill Jeff Hardy" thing blow over. So, he would stay in and rent a movie. Again.

He rounded a corner, and let out a girlish yelp when he saw Matt standing there, leaning casually against the wall, as if waiting for him.

"Christ man, you scared the hell out of me!!", yelled Adam, his tone furious.

Matt's dark eyes were piercing; they seemed to paralyze Edge every time they moved over him. "Funny thing", he said, his tone low and dangerous, "I haven't been able to find you. And, I've been figuring some things out, regarding my little fuck of a brother-"

"Look, man, I have no interest in getting involved. Do what you want to him. But don't fucking involve me!" Adam started to move away. He was pissed, and a little scared, to feel Matt gripping his upper arm tightly.

"You're already involved", Matt hissed, "Like it or not."

Adam looked the older Hardy over, and decided he was serious. Oh, fuck. He was in deep shit now.

Edge sighed. "Fine. But this can't interfere with my title retention. I'll cut your balls off if I lose my gold because of a little vendetta you have against your snot-nosed brother."

Matt smiled, his eyes dancing with dark schemes. "Don't worry, Adam. If anything, this will help you retain your precious belt. Just think; my brother will be out of your way, permanently. You'll never have to worry about him getting his little, grubby hands on your shiny gold again. How does that sound?"

Edge grinned, despite himself. "I have to admit, that sounds pretty god damn good."

"Then let's get started."

* * * * * * *

Jeff was regretting staying up until four in the morning. It was 9:00, and he was on his way to the hotel lobby to catch a quick breakfast, before rushing off to the airport. There was a house show that night. He prayed that during that day's rush of activity, he would manage to avoid his brother. He just couldn't face him right now.

The young Hardy entered the room where the hotel was serving a continental breakfast. He saw a number of other wrestlers scattered about, chatting amicably with each other. Sighing inwardly, he left his suitcase by an empty table, and grabbed himself a spare plate of food. Some fruit, a piece of toast. A cup of coffee. He wasn't even sure if he could get that down, but he had to eat something. Head bowed, he made his way back to his table, and munched half-heartedly on the hotel fare.

"Hey, Jeffro." A sudden voice made him nearly jump out of his skin. He looked up from his plate to see Christian looking down at him, concern written plainly on his handsome features. "Mind if I sit down?"

"Hey, Jay. Uh, sure. Have a seat", replied Jeff, "But you do know you're sitting at the table of the current outcast/circus freak of the WWE, right?"

Jay furrowed his brow in anger. "I heard about what happened the other day. Matt's a fucking asshole, and so are those pricks over there who have the audacity to gossip about the situation right in front of you. It's none of their business."

Jeff was taken aback. "Thanks", he said softly.

"You know, you look like shit. You been losing sleep?"

The young Hardy quirked his lips in a half-smile. "What do you think?"

"Well, listen", Jay said, rising to his feet, "If you need anyone to talk to about this, just let me know."

Jeff nodded, watching him walk away.

That had been odd.

* * * * * * *

"Adam, pssst!", whispered Jay, beckoning Edge over to his shadowy corner in the hotel lobby.

The Rated R Superstar rushed over to his newly-returned friend, and looked around to ensure that they were not being watched.

"Did you do it?"

"Yeah. He's a mess. He looks like he hasn't slept in four days. He was sitting there, eating at a table all by himself, when he knew damn well everyone in the room was talking about him. It was kind of… pathetic."

"What happened?", Adam asked, violently chewing on his fingernails and spitting out the broken pieces.

"I just sat down for a minute and told him I thought his situation was unfair, and that I thought Matt was a tool. I said if he needed anyone to talk to, he should let me know."

"And how did he react, for fuck's sake?" Adam's eyes were wide, and he was sweating.

"Calm down, Jesus! He seemed pretty surprised, and grateful that someone gave a shit. Poor guy." Christian shook his head.

Adam moved in, and grabbed his shirt. "Not 'poor guy'. As of now, Jeff Hardy has a huge fucking target painted on his head. You are going to help me destroy that little shit, from the inside out."

"Woah, Adam, you never said anything about destroying anybody!", said Jay, backing up, "I don't know what the fuck you're doing, but I'm not gonna be a part of it."

Edge revealed a predatory grin. "You'll do what you're told. And I will tell you why, Jay." He stalked in closer. Jay backed up again. "I have certain… connections here in the WWE. Management has changed hands several times over since you were last here."

"I heard about your 'relationship' with Vickie Guerrero", Jay said dryly, "You picked a real beauty there."

Adam's face grew beet-red. "It's insignificant who it is! The point is, I know people, and I can make things happen. And I can ensure, Jay, that you are at the bottom of the food chain around here until hell freezes over. That is, unless you do this one simple thing for me."

Jay glared, furious. "You want me to befriend him. To gain his trust."

Adam smiled. "That's all."

"Then what?"

"Then, the fun part begins."

* * * * * * *

**Okay, just a quick note to clarify: I wanted Christian on Smackdown, because I think it's just plain idiotic for him to be anywhere else. Also, in case it wasn't made clear, Edge is not married to Vickie, but is having "relations" with her in return for favors. (Don't get me wrong, I love the marriage on TV, but I don't want the bother of writing a nagging wife into my story.) **

**Review if you're bored, or if you're not! I love reviews. :) **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Animal Luvr 4 Life, yes, Vickie sucks, but she is amusing; Neroanne, LOL; Nelpher, thank you; JNHwwe, thank you also; Crystalgurl101, Matt is a low-down bastard in this story, and it's only going to get worse; I also want to put an arm around Jeff, and tell him it'll be ok!; Onions, as always, fascinating stuff; Nobody's Love, much obliged; ExtremeDiva18, I'll do my best to update more often. :)**

**Thank you very much to all who reviewed, and I'm sorry it took me so long to update this time around. Life intervenes, as we all know.**

**As always, WWE owns all, and I am poor. Oh yeah, and I own nothing and no one.**

Jeff sat in a shadowy corner of the locker room after the show that night, exhausted in both mind and body. He couldn't wait to get back to the hotel, and yet he couldn't find the strength to move just yet.

He sat with slumped shoulders, watching the hustle of the locker room. At least the others were ignoring him now.

Their incessant whispers and gossiping had ceased at the onset of a more interesting subject, which, currently, was Brie Bella possibly dating Kane. The locker room was abuzz with rumor and speculation about the pair. Jeff felt sorry for them.

He sighed, running a hand through the unkempt blue hair he hadn't even bothered to brush that day. He felt so alone, and it was really starting to eat at him. His sad green eyes studied the wrestlers surrounding him. Most of them were engaged in amicable conversation, laughing with each other, talking about going out to clubs or bars later that night. Jeff knew he wouldn't be invited along.

Shaking his head, he decided to stop torturing himself. They would get over this bullshit soon enough. They just didn't know how to approach him yet.

He shouldered his backpack, and moved to walk out of the locker room.

When his gaze fell upon the group standing across the way, he froze suddenly, every muscle in his body stiffening up.

His brother was there, having an intense discussion with John Morrison. Jeff's breath caught in his throat as he realized that he would have to pass them in order to reach the exit. He thought about waiting for Matt to leave, but angrily dismissed the prospect. Why should he be forced to hide? He chastised himself for acting like a coward. He'd just walk by them, and if Matt gave him shit, he'd give it right back.

Squaring his shoulders, Jeff made his way along the wall towards the door. He walked right past Matt and Morrison, taking care not to look at them. He couldn't help but feel relieved when his brother said nothing. He grabbed the door handle and pulled the door open, moving to slip out.

"Leaving without saying goodbye?", came a cold voice from behind him.

Jeff stopped. He turned slowly to face Matt, memories of their last encounter very prevalent in his thoughts.

The older Hardy stood with a crooked smile on his face, his dark eyes appraising Jeff, up and down. "My god, little brother, you look fucking terrible."

"Fuck you, Matt", Jeff turned to leave, refusing to be baited.

Matt moved with surprising swiftness, grabbing his brother by the arm to stop his departure. Jeff turned again, glaring at him.

"What do you want?", Jeff asked, trying desperately to keep his voice steady.

Not relinquishing his grip on his brother's arm, Matt moved closer.

"Just giving you a warning, little Jeffro", he said, his eyes narrowing, "Stay away from me." He pulled Jeff closer despite his protestations and struggles. "Because next time I see you", he leaned in and whispered gently in his ear, "you could get hurt."

Jeff stared at Matt. "What the fuck is wrong with you?", he said, his voice breaking, "Why are you acting like this?"

Matt patted him on his cheek. "Just remember my warning. I won't give it again."

The older Hardy walked away then, whistling tunelessly.

Jeff watched him go, despair clutching at his heart. How could this ever be fixed? It was really beginning to look as if things would never be the same between him and Matt, and that thought terrified him.

Shaking his head, he left the locker room. He needed to get the fuck out of here. He just needed to forget about all of this. He usually didn't have any desire to imbibe, but tonight he felt a desperate and overwhelming need to get so mind-numbingly drunk that he couldn't remember his own name.

Head bowed, he walked briskly towards his rental car. Matt's words returned to him with harsh clarity then, causing him to wince.

Yeah, he thought, grimacing, a drink was starting to sound awfully good.

* * * * * * *

Matt lounged on the soft bed in his hotel room, a smile perched on his full lips. He was thinking back to tonight's encounter in the locker room, and how perfectly it had gone.

He'd left Jeff alone for a few days, to let it sink in that his brother had, indeed, turned against him. He seemed to be having a hard time accepting that. Good. Let him suffer.

There was a loud knock at the door then, interrupting his happy musings. Matt scowled, and rose to answer it.

"Hey, man", said Adam, shouldering his way into the room, "I've got some news for you."

"It had better be _good_ news", said Matt in a low voice as he shut the door, "I was just about to go to bed."

Adam didn't notice the threatening undertone in Matt's voice, or he blatantly ignored it. "Oh, it's good", he said happily, "I cooked up a kick-ass plan."

"Mmm hmm", said Matt, urging him to continue.

Adam took a seat on the bed. "I got the idea for my little plan when I saw Jeff wandering around, all alone. It just seemed like he was begging for someone to hang with, you know? So, I am going to provide him with one." Edge looked proud of his stroke of genius. Matt's face twitched. "I talked to Jay, and told him to gain Jeff's trust, and befriend him-"

"You did WHAT?!", yelled Matt. His dark eyes were wide, his breaths heaving.

"Well… that is, I… ", stammered Adam, "Jay talked to him, and-"

Matt began to pace. "Please, PLEASE tell me, Adam, that you did not bring _another_ person into this, especially your asshole friend Jay Reso."

"It's done", Adam said in a small, squeaky voice, "He talked to Jeff this morning."

Matt, growling, grabbed Adam by the throat and squeezed, hard. The Rated R Superstar clawed at the older Hardy's wrist, and tried desperately to pull in air, to no avail.

"The more people that are involved, the more probability there is that the plans will fail!", snarled Matt, "We don't need Jay. I have plenty of my own plans that are ready to be executed. If only my accomplices would stop thinking and start _listening_!"

He gave Adam's throat one last, painful squeeze, before dropping him to the floor. Edge lay there, coughing and spluttering.

"Get rid of him, Adam. I don't care what you have to do to shut him up, just do it." Matt's voice brooked no argument.

Adam's voice was hoarse when he spoke. "Wait Matt, at least let me tell you what I had in mind!" He knew he was on unsteady ground here, but he stood by his plan. He knew it could help them in the long run. When Matt said nothing, he continued.

"Wouldn't it be helpful to have an inside man, a mole, someone to tell us what Jeff is feeling at any given time? I have full confidence that Jay can gain his trust, and his friendship, especially now, when he's so desperate. And then, he can report back to us, letting us know what's going on in Jeff's camp, so that we can adjust our plans accordingly, if need be."

Matt tapped his lip thoughtfully. "It's definitely interesting", he said, all anger at his comrade apparently forgotten, "But I have one problem with this. Compensation. I get revenge out of this. You get a title. But what the hell does Jay Reso get? Nothing. I hope you didn't promise him money or anything, because I'm not paying him shit."

Adam smirked. "I'm forcing him."

Matt's eyebrow quirked. "Excuse me?"

"I used my influence with Vickie, and his status as a new wrestler to the company, to threaten him. I said that if he didn't cooperate and do this one thing for me, I would ensure that he was jobbing for the rest of his time here."

Matt grinned. "You bastard."

"I could do it, too. All it would take is", he shuddered visibly, "one night with that ugly bitch."

Matt shook his head. "I don't know how you stand it."

"The gold." Edge smiled dreamily. "I would do anything for the gold."

* * * * * * *

Jeff sat in the hotel bar, nursing a glass of Grey Goose vodka. He didn't know why he'd ordered this particular drink. Matt had always loved to down it at parties. He missed seeing his brother in better times, laughing, smiling, regarding him with kind brown eyes.

"God dammit", he muttered angrily, pushing the foul-smelling alcohol away.

He didn't know why he was torturing himself like this. None of this was his fault.

Resting his head in his hand, he stared down at the tabletop, and began to trace shapes on the wood with his fingernail.

"Hey there, Jeffro. Fancy seeing you here."

He looked up, startled. Jay Reso stood next to his table, an amused grin on his face.

"So, you gonna let me stand here all night, or can I join you?", he asked, leaning casually against the wall. Jeff noticed that he was drinking a Canadian draft. So predictable.

"Have a seat", the young Hardy said, motioning across the table to the empty bar stool.

The blonde superstar took a seat.

Jeff stirred his drink, and stared at the tabletop. It didn't appear as if he was in the mood for conversation.

"So, that was some scene, with your brother, before", said Jay, taking a sip of beer. He wasn't going to mince any words. He wanted to gauge Jeff's reactions to the Matt debacle. That was, after all, why Adam had recruited him for this. He felt like a complete shit for mentioning it, though, when Jeff visibly winced.

"I don't want to talk about it", he said quietly.

"C'mon, man", urged Jay gently, "Maybe it would help you to unload a little. I mean, everyone's seen the way he's been treating you."

"Yeah, I've been getting a lot of support from the guys", Jeff muttered bitterly.

"It's not that they mean to be dicks or anything, Jeffro", Jay explained, "I just think that a lot of them are staying away to let you and Matt resolve this thing on your own. They don't want to be seen as being on one side or the other, because they care about both of you. A lot of them are giving Matt the cold shoulder too, in case you haven't noticed."

Jeff just gave a non-committal shake of his head.

Jay sighed, and took a deep swig of his beer. "I'm sorry things suck so badly for you right now, Jeff." He spoke quietly, and with such sincerity that Jeff actually looked up.

"It's not your fault", the young Hardy replied with a bitter smile, "This shit just follows me around, I guess."

A pang of guilt stabbed Jay's gut as he watched Jeff grab the glass of vodka and down it in one swallow. The young Hardy slammed it down on the hard tabletop, exhaling with a grimace.

"Jeff-"

"No. I don't want to talk about this anymore. Stay if you want. But I fully intend to drink myself into a stupor."

He reached across the table and plucked the beer out of Jay's hands. Jeff drank, long and deep. He finished the half-empty draft.

"Jeff, come on, man, just go to bed", Jay said, his brow furrowed in concern.

The younger wrestler's gaze locked with Christian's, his green eyes intense on the older man's face. The blonde wrestler swallowed uncomfortably.

"Bring me something to drink, will you, Jay?", Jeff asked, his soft voice rough with exhaustion.

"Jeff-"

"Just do it", he interrupted, averting his gaze.

With an audible sigh, the Canadian wrestler pushed away from the table and rose, moving to walk over to the bar. He ordered a few shots of something, and paid. The waitress immediately brought them to the table. Without pretense, Jeff downed three, one after another.

Jay grabbed his arm to stop him from reaching for a fourth.

"You've had enough", he said, gently but firmly.

Jeff didn't look up. He was shaking. Anger, frustration, and a deep, penetrating sadness were taking their emotional toll on the Charismatic Enigma, and he didn't know how to deal with it anymore.

"C'mon, Jeff, just go to bed", said Jay quietly.

Jeff's green eyes raked Christian's pale face. "Why the fuck do you care?!", he yelled, his breaths heaving, eyes glazed over with unshed tears.

Jay took a breath, weighing his response. "Do you think I like seeing you like this, Jeff? You used to be the one we all protected. No one ever fucked with you, because they knew they would answer to Edge, myself, or, especially, a very pissed off Matt. And now, I return and everything is different." He paused to drink the last shot of bitter alcohol himself.

Jeff was watching him, his sad green eyes filled with confusion and suspicion, not understanding what the point could be.

"I don't like seeing my friends like this", said Christian softly, in such a low voice that Jeff wasn't sure that he'd heard it, "You should be holding the WWE championship right now. And Matt should be protecting you like he always has. I don't understand how all of this could've happened."

Jeff's hands clenched into fists on top of the table. He screwed his eyes shut for a moment, as if he were in pain.

"Ask Matt", said Jeff bitterly, "I'm sure he'd love to tell you."

Jay regarded the younger man with worried eyes. He looked exhausted, beaten down.

Where was his protection now?

"There you are, kid." A low, gravelly voice cut through the background din of the bar, causing both Jeff and Jay to look towards the entrance. Mark stood there, as if conjured, his dark eyes running over Christian slowly. As if he were deciding whether to kill him, or let him go. Jay swallowed audibly.

The Undertaker moved gracefully towards the table, navigating the near-empty barroom quickly. When he reached them, he turned towards the young Hardy and crossed his arms in an admonishing fashion.

"Hey, Mark", said Jeff in a long-suffering voice, "You didn't have to come and look for me. I told you I'd be fine."

Mark pulled up a chair, completely ignoring Jay for the moment.

"Yeah, well, forgive me for not believing you", he replied, eyes narrowing, "But you _are_ a recovering drug addict who tends to revert to unhealthy habits in stressful situations. And I wasn't gonna let you fuck up another chance at the title."

"I'm fine. I'm just sitting here, talking, for fuck's sake!", cried Jeff defensively, his fist coming down on the tabletop and rattling the empty glasses.

Mark's gaze moved down to said empty glasses. "How many has he had?"

He was obviously talking to Jay now.

"He's fine, Mark. Just a few-"

"How MANY???!!!"

Mark yelled, the force of his anger focused fully on Jay now.

Jay's eyes widened in fear, and he found himself rattling off the list of Jeff's alcohol consumption for the night before he could think.

"A, uh, few shots, a glass of vodka, and half a beer."

Mark glared at his young friend.

"Didn't we agree you were gonna stay away from alcohol, because it makes you crave the drugs?"

"Fuck off, Mark", Jeff mumbled angrily, his gaze firmly on the floor.

"This isn't a fucking joke, Jeff!", said Mark, pulling his face up by the chin so that Jeff was forced to look at him.

Jeff's face was a mask of green-eyed rage. "I fucking know it's not a joke!", he hissed, "I wasn't going to go near any fucking drugs, if that's what you're so fucking uptight about."

Mark let go of Jeff's chin, watching as he slowly became unglued. It broke his heart.

The young Hardy closed his eyes. His breaths began to hitch in his throat as fat tears slowly leaked out of his tightly shut eyelids. "I just… needed to feel something… other than the certainty that my brother hates me, for no fucking reason at all."

He dropped his head into his hands, and began to sob uncontrollably.

Mark and Jay glanced at each other, neither knowing what to do, or what to say.

In the end, they just let him cry.

Jeff, for his part, was grateful for the silence.

* * * * * * *

It was going on three in the morning, and Jay was so exhausted that his eyes were beginning to close as he walked down the gaudily-carpeted hallway in their hotel. He had just left Mark and Jeff in the elevator, getting off a floor below theirs. Jeff was dozing lightly on the shoulder of the Undertaker, who had his arm wrapped around the smaller man's waist to prevent him from falling.

Jay had to admit, it was… kind of cute.

Who would've ever thought those two would have ended up friends? It was an odd acquaintance, to say the least.

Mark had given him a cursory nod, before the elevator doors had shut. Jay thought it was an acknowledgement of some kind, a promise that he wouldn't be destroyed, at least right now. He'd done alright by Jeff tonight.

If only the Deadman knew where he was going, right now. He would pull his head off with his bare hands.

Jay stopped in front of one of the nondescript doors, and knocked three times. He heard nothing for a moment. Soft, shuffling footsteps broke the silence, moving clumsily towards the locked portal. Finally, the door opened, to reveal a glaring, sleep-mussed Adam Copeland.

"Could this not have waited until tomorrow, Jay?", he said, his voice hoarse.

Jay pushed past him, and waited until he closed the door to speak.

"No, it couldn't", he replied, "I want to be out of your service as soon as possible, Adam. What you're doing to Jeff-"

"Is what?", interrupted Adam, smiling widely, "Repugnant? Terrible? Without moral conscience? HA! Fuck that shit, Jay! I don't have a conscience!" He laughed, before continuing. "I don't care if you hate every second of it. You will get in his good graces, and report back to me everything that goes down. So, what happened tonight?"

Jay glared, not particularly inclined to give up anything. But thinking about his career, the years of hard work that had brought him to this point and how Edge could bring it all crashing down with a sweep of his hand, he reluctantly began to spill details about the incident in the bar.

Edge seemed particularly interested in the fact that Jeff and the Undertaker were close friends.

"Hmmm", mused the Rated R Superstar, "that is interesting. Can't believe I never noticed before. But then again, I guess I never gave enough of a shit about Jeffro before he started taking my titles away from me."

Jay shook his head, brow furrowed in annoyance.

"Alright, Jay, you can go", Adam said, waving his hand as if he were dismissing a servant. He appeared to be musing over the information that Christian had just brought him.

Jay shot a glare over his shoulder as he moved towards the door. He had a bad feeling about this. Adam had a shit-eating grin on his face. Never a good sign.

He turned around, holding the doorknob in a tight grip.

"You're not going to hurt Jeff, right?", Jay asked, face tight with concern.

Adam smirked. "Whatever I have to do, I will do, _mon frere_."

Shaking his head, Christian left, pulling the door shut with a resounding slam.

Chuckling, Adam picked up his cell phone and text messaged Matt, knowing that to call him this late would mean death.

"_Jeff and Undertaker are friends. Take Undertaker away, Jeff will have no one but Jay. Then, Jeff will be right where we want him._"

Discarding the phone, Adam returned to bed with a sigh.

Tomorrow was going to be a wonderful day.

* * * * * * *

**What has Edge got planned for Undertaker?! What has Matt got planned for Jeff?! Do the reviewers plan to review?! I hope so! ;)**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Expect-the-Unexpected75, you're right in that Jeff is always the victim; I think people always write it that way because it's easier to imagine, and far more fun (I know, I'm evil); Animal Luvr 4 Life, keep reading to find out!; Neroanne, Mark's a tough nut to crack, but so are Edge and Matt, so you never know what'll happen; Crystalgurl101, please don't cry!; Onions, I'll have to read that one; it sounds like an epic worthy of my attention; Nobody's Love, glad you're liking the tension and evil Matt and Adam; ponygirl-loves-mcqueen, much obliged; Nelpher, I know Jeff and Mark aren't the most traditional pair, but I'm glad you're liking it; I just love the two of them in fanfic, ever since seeing that 2002 ladder match; they just seem to fit well together; JNHwwe, thank you, and thank you; Phoenix-Syren, stay tuned!**

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed; I much appreciate it.**

**WWE owns all, I own nothing.**

The morning dawned cold and sunless, and decidedly miserable.

Matt was up early. A sour smile touched his lips as he looked out the locked window of his hotel room. It was cold, rainy, and the streets outside were near-deserted.

It fit his mood perfectly.

He stretched tired muscles, and ran his hand back through his dark curls. Matt grabbed his oversized suitcase and dumped it on the bed. He had a few hours to kill before he had to catch a flight to Houston, and he figured getting his packing finished early couldn't hurt. Absentmindedly, he began to throw clothes into his bag, thinking over his plans for Jeff.

A small, flickering blue light caught his eye suddenly, blinking incessantly in the corner of his vision. He turned his head. His cell phone lay on the nightstand. Emblazoned across its display was the fact that he had a new text message.

He opened the phone.

"_Jeff and Undertaker are friends. Take Undertaker away, Jeff will have no one but Jay. Then, Jeff will be right where we want him_."

The message, of course, was from that scheming bastard, Edge.

He assumed this information had been procured from Jay, as Adam was far too much of a sniveling coward to do any snooping on his own.

So, his little brother had befriended the Deadman. Well, there were ways around that.

As he pondered the text message, and all of its implications, there came a sudden, loud knocking at his door. He ignored it, figuring it was housekeeping. The fierce banging persisted, however.

"Fuck off!", yelled Matt, glaring. He began to turn his attention back to the message, when a muffled growl traveled through the door, and up his spine.

"Open the door, Matt", said the Undertaker, "We have some things to talk about."

The older Hardy's head shot up. He certainly hadn't expected Mark Calloway to show up at his door at 8:00 in the morning.

"Go away", Matt postured, his tone cold and haughty as he fought to keep the surprise from his voice.

"You'd better open this door, boy", grated Mark, "or I'm gonna go to the front desk and get a key. And if I have to do that, well, things are gonna get really ugly, really fast."

Walking slowly, Matt moved over to the door, and opened it, painting a sneer on his face.

"Do you have the wrong room, or something?", said Matt, arrogance lacing his Southern drawl.

Grunting, Mark pushed past into the room. His dark eyes roamed the room for a moment, before he took a seat on the couch by the window.

"Please, have a seat", muttered Matt sarcastically.

"What's going on with you and your brother?", he said, not wasting time with explanations or pleasantries.

"Family business", replied Matt simply, his eyes narrowing.

"Bullshit", growled Mark, "I saw that little scene in catering, and I heard what you said to him in the locker room. What the fuck are you thinking? Jeff has done nothing to you-"

"Wrong!", snarled Matt, "Wrong!!! He has done everything to me. Everyone just refuses to see it." Mark heard the tendons pop in his knuckles as the older Hardy curled his hands into tight fists. "_I_ am the one who got us here. _I_ am the one who works twice as hard as him, only to receive half the reward. _I_ am the one who has always, _always_ had to labor for everything, while he, the chosen one, pretty little Jeffro, has always had everything handed to him on a silver fucking platter. Well fuck him, Mark, and fuck you!"

Matt was breathing hard by the time he finished his rant. Mark had hoped to talk some sense into him today, for Jeff's sake. Looking at him now, however, he didn't think that was possible.

"Your brother loves you", he said quietly, "And you need to look past this all of this petty bullshit, and apologize to him, and remember that you love him, too."

Matt looked at the big man strangely, as if he couldn't understand why he was here at all. "But, I _don't_ love him. He's nothing to me. Not anymore."

Mark sighed. This was getting him nowhere. He rose abruptly. "Fine then", he said, heading for the door, "If he means nothing to you, if you truly care nothing for him, then you will stay the fuck away from him."

"Or what?", said Matt. His tone was filled quiet amusement. It was disturbing.

The Undertaker stopped, and turned. "Or you will answer to me, and to everyone else who still cares about Jeff."

Matt laughed. "Well, that's just not good enough, is it?", he said, "I mean, he really has so few friends left-"

Mark growled low in his throat, an animalistic noise that took Matt aback for a second. "Just stay the fuck away from him. Or I will end you."

He left. The door slammed shut, leaving Matt alone with thoughts.

"Well, well, well. The Undertaker wants to play", mused Matt.

Pulling out his laptop, he opened a new file and began to type, his brow furrowed in concentration. When he'd finished, a grin split his face. A moment later, he sent out an email with the file attached.

"Play with me, and you and little Jeffy are going to lose", Matt muttered happily.

He couldn't wait for that file to be opened.

* * * * * * *

"Mark, you're late!", cried Jeff, gesturing for the Deadman to come over.

The agitated Hardy was sitting at breakfast, his suitcase next to him, a near-empty coffee pot on the table. His uneaten food lay cold on its plate.

Jay also sat at the table. He gave Mark a sickly grin upon his arrival.

Sighing, the Deadman sat down heavily. "Jay, would you mind grabbing me a plate of whatever's left at the buffet?"

"Yeah, sure Mark."

The blonde superstar rose and began to maneuver his way through the mostly-empty tables.

"So, where were you?", asked Jeff, smiling, "You're like forty minutes late, and you're _never_ late. Whatever it was, it must've been important."

"It was", he said quietly. He couldn't meet Jeff's gaze.

"What's wrong, Mark?" The young Hardy was beginning to pick up that something was off.

The Deadman looked up, his dark eyes locking with Jeff's green ones. "I went to see your brother." He hesitated. "It didn't go too well."

The young Hardy stared. "You did what?", he said, his voice suddenly hoarse.

"I guess I thought I'd be able to talk some sense into his dumb ass", he growled, before softening his tone for Jeff's sake, "I tried to reason with him, and tell him your side of things."

"Let me guess", Jeff said quietly, "He wouldn't hear a word of it, and he threatened you."

"Not in so many words", Mark assured him, "But I don't want you going anywhere near him. I mean it, Jeff. Something's off with that boy, and until he straightens things out in his own head, you've gotta avoid him. Okay?"

Jeff nodded miserably.

Jay returned then, a full, steaming plate of food in hand.

"Breakfast is served, my lord", he joked, sliding the food in front of Mark.

"Nope, you put it in the wrong spot", he said, picking up the plate and dropping it down in front of Jeff.

"Mark, I already ate", he said, confused.

"I saw your plate", scolded Mark, "and there wasn't anything on there that you'd eaten, 'cept maybe a piece of chewed-on bacon. I'm tired of you drinking coffee for breakfast. You need to eat. Now, no arguments. Eat. Now."

He handed Jeff a fork, and settled back in his chair, watching the younger superstar like a hawk. Realizing there was no arguing with the Undertaker, the young Hardy shook his head and slowly began to shovel food into his mouth.

"You really know how to win arguments with him", said Jay, impressed.

"Damn right I do", replied Mark cockily.

Jeff, chewing a mouth-full of eggs, gave them both the middle finger.

* * * * * * *

That night, the superstars found themselves, after a long day of traveling, in San Antonio, TX. They were all exhausted, and most went to bed early.

Adam, half-asleep as he brushed his teeth, looked forward to collapsing into the comfy bed and passing out beneath the gaudy, flower-drenched comforter. Tonight, he would sleep like the dead.

Suddenly, he heard his cell phone ringing from the other room, and he quickly spat toothpaste into the sink. Sprinting towards his bag, he managed to pick it up just before the eighth ring.

"Where the fuck were you?", grated Matt angrily.

Inwardly, Adam groaned.

"I was brushing my teeth", he replied, his tone infuriatingly arrogant, "What do you want?"

"Get your ass to my room. Now. We have some things we need to discuss. Room 213."

Before Adam could utter any protestations about wanting to get some sleep for once, the motherfucker hung up.

"Oh, god dammit!"

He threw the phone across the room, wishing vehemently that it would break. Instead, it just landed softly on his comfy bed.

* * * * * * *

Knock. Knock.

The Rated R Superstar wished that he was pounding on Matt Hardy's skull instead of his hotel room door.

"It's open, Adam!", came the muffled greeting from the depths of Room 213.

Sneering, the blonde superstar entered the room. Matt was sitting on the bed, studying his laptop screen, a smile painted on his features.

"What do you look so damn happy about?", Adam asked, glaring, as he made his way over to Matt's minibar. He proceeded to pour himself a glass of Jack Daniels over ice. He winced at the bitter taste as he downed it.

Matt laughed at this display.

"Angry that I got you out of bed? Get the fuck over it."

Adam slammed the glass down. "Alright, I have had enough of this shit", he snarled, "You claim to have this master plan, and yet the only progress we have made has been as a result of me. I've done everything, in case you haven't noticed! I got Jay. I found out about the Undertaker. And yet, you insist on treating me like your bitch."

"Maybe now, you have a tiny _inkling_ of how I'm treated, in relation to Jeffrey."

"Oh, now, don't start that shit up again-"

Matt smirked. "I have no intentions of starting anything. You feel underappreciated, and overworked. You feel that I'm not contributing anything to our little… project. Fine. Let me begin contributing, as of right now. I'll tell you exactly how we're going to get rid of the Undertaker."

Adam's ears perked. "You have a plan?"

"I do have a plan. And the beginning stages of it are already complete."

"Well, fucking tell me already!", urged Edge impatiently.

"This morning, our friend Mark came to see me. He basically told me that I should either reconcile with Jeff, or stay the fuck away from him."

"Holy shit!", exclaimed Adam, wide-eyed, "What did you say?"

"I told him no, on both counts", waving this off as if it were unimportant to his story, "But after he'd left, I realized that the Deadman could become a real problem. The fact that he'd bothered to intervene on my brother's behalf showed that he cared about him. And I realized that the more I fucked with Jeff, the angrier it was going to make him. He was only going to make things more difficult as things went forward. I knew that he had to go."

"So, what did you do?"

Matt smiled evilly. "You know all of those freelance internet wrestling reporters that Vince hates so much? You know, the ones that publish spoilers for shows a week before they happen, and find out all of the dirt about the wrestling world?"

Adam nodded.

"Well, Vince once told us that any affiliation with any of these internet reporters, for any reason, would be immediate grounds for firing. And I, um, _accidentally_ forged a letter from the Undertaker, talking trash about the WWE. I sent it out to all of the major sites. And, as I've just seen, they've all bought it, hook, line, and sinker."

He turned his computer screen to face Adam. The tall man bent over to read the screen, which was emblazoned with the unflattering headline "Deadman Out of His Skull?"

The letter itself was short, biting, and to the point:

_My name is Mark Calloway, and for many years now, I have wrestled between the ropes of the WWE. Years ago, before stocks and merchandise sales became such an issue, we wrestlers actually used to have fun. Imagine that. I used to love this company, and everything it stood for, the pageantry, and the fans. _

_No more._

_It has turned into a seething pit of greed and filth, all fueled by one disgusting pig of a man: Vincent Kennedy McMahon. He does not care about the wrestlers who put their bodies on the line for him, day in and day out. Worse, he does not care about the fans who pay to see his show. A show that, with each passing day, seems filled with less and less heart. _

_It is, I suppose, the price we pay for remaining silent as the tyrant McMahon lays waste to all we hold dear._

_I will no longer remain silent._

_McMahon, fire me if you wish. I don't care anymore. At least I'll have had my say before I go._

_Wrestling should not be corporate. It belongs to the wrestlers. It belongs to the fans._

_-Mark Calloway_

Adam straightened, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open. "Holy fucking shit", he breathed.

Matt leaned back against the headboard, a cocky grin upon his face.

"Vince is gonna eat him alive!", Adam cackled wildly, "And to think, I was gonna call in a favor and then steel myself for another night with Vickie." He shuddered, repulsed at the thought. "Actually, to get rid of the Undertaker, she might've made me spend a whole _week_ with her!"

Matt rolled his eyes, before looking back to the screen. He was happy with the results of his little letter-writing campaign. Already, the sites were flooded with comments from its users, most wanting to know if this was a hoax or not.

They'd get their answer soon enough, when Vince McMahon fired Mark Calloway.

Then, his baby brother would fall like a broken stalk in a windstorm.

* * * * * * *

**It's true, Matt's a bastard. But we love him anyway.**

**Review if you're bored, review if you're not! I love reviews!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Phoenix-Syren, I agree that Vince might not buy the headline, and I'll be attempting to address that in this chapter; Animal Luvr 4 Life and pony-loves-mcqueen,, Matt **_**is**_** a dick and he **_**is**_** evil, and it's only gonna get worse, so hang on for the ride!; Renna33, ya never know what Vince might swallow down on a bad day... ; Neroanne, thanks, I have fun writing Matty evil; and you never know when a brotherly confrontation may be lurking around the corner, so stay tuned; Crystalgurl101, many thanks! (Although, I have to say, the heel Matt on TV is kinda freaky just **_**because**_** he's so quiet.); Nelpher, thanks, it's fun to write Matt and Edge as evil buddies when they've been arch-enemies for so long; slashdlite, keep reading to find out Mark's fate, and you never know what will happen!**

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed!**

**As always, the WWE owns all, and I am broke.**

"Vince, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Mark was truly at a loss. As soon as he'd entered the chairman's makeshift office in the arena, Vince had begun ranting furiously about an email he'd supposedly sent out. The Deadman had barely been able to get a word in since the tirade had begun.

"Don't lie to me!", shouted Vince, his face bright red, "Why would you lie about this anyway? I thought you were proud of your work!" He slammed his fist down on the desk, causing coffee from his mug to splash onto the wood.

"Vince", said Mark slowly, "Can I see this email I'm supposed to have sent out?"

"Why?", asked Vince, "You know what it says."

"Humor me."

Glaring, the chairman handed a sheet of paper across the desk. Mark's eyes darkened as he read down the page. He handed it back when he'd finished.

"I see why you're so upset", he said, "but I didn't write this."

Vince's eyes narrowed. "I have pretty strong evidence that you did."

"What evidence?", Mark said, his tone defensive.

Vince glared at him in an accusatory manner, furious that he was trying to act innocent when, in his mind, he was guilty as hell.

"I've had my people closely monitoring the wrestling news sites online, simply because they've been reporting far too many of our storylines before they happen. So, when the letter was posted, I was informed immediately. I thought it was bullshit at first. I figured a fan had played a practical joke or something. But then I realized something. These sites may be obnoxious and annoying, but they are meticulous about checking sources. They don't put just anything up. So, I got in touch with one of the reporters, and asked how they'd confirmed the fact that this wasn't all some elaborate hoax. He told me they hired a company to track the IP address of the computer that had sent the e-mail. It had tracked back to the city that Smackdown was in that night. They also found that the computer that sent the letter was using the wireless internet of the Holiday Inn on Route 63. That was the hotel we booked for WWE personnel during that timeframe." Vince paused, his eyes intense on Mark's face. "Is that enough proof for you?"

Mark stared. "So what you're saying", he said, "is that anyone in that hotel could've sent the letter."

"Oh come off it, god dammit!", yelled Vince, "What the hell is the matter with you, Mark?! Is there a particular reason you're trying to humiliate me like this?"

"I didn't do this, Vince", the Deadman said calmly, "When you've calmed down enough to think rationally, you'll realize I have no reason to jeopardize my career, or my position in the company, by pulling an asshole stunt like that."

"I don't know what the fuck has gotten into you, but hopefully a month of suspension will be enough time for you to clear the bullshit out of your brain", Vince spat.

"You're going to pull me from Wrestlemania for something I didn't do?", Mark said quietly.

"I don't believe you", the chairman said, "And a month is more than fair."

Mark rose. "Fine. I'm going, then."

"You're barred from the arenas and backstage areas for the length of your suspension. I mean it. I catch you anywhere near a WWE show, and it'll be two months, instead of one. Have a nice rest, Mark."

"Bastard", the Deadman muttered under his breath as he left.

Sighing resignedly, he began walking towards the parking garage.

Jeff wasn't going to take this news very well. Not well at all.

* * * * * * *

"Knock it off, Matt!"

Maria angrily pushed the older Hardy away from her again, her nails digging painfully into his skin. He grinned. He liked her fire.

"Oh, come on, let me buy you a drink, sweetheart", he drawled, his dark eyes fixed firmly on her half-exposed cleavage.

"Go away!", she said, shrinking back.

"Hey, Maria, he bothering you?" The Miz strolled casually up to the pair, a frown on his normally smirking face.

Maria just nodded once in reply to the query, afraid of what Matt was going to do.

Miz turned to Matt. "I don't think she wants to hang with you, bro", he said, "Maybe you should just move on."

Matt's face was impassive. "Is that what you think I should do?"

"Yeah, man."

"Well, I personally don't give a fuck about your opinion, so why don't you leave?" Hardy's voice was soft, and dangerous.

"When the fuck did you become all psycho, man?", said Miz, not backing down, "I mean, you used to be friends with Maria. And Jeff, well, what you're doing to him is just plain fucked in the head-"

Matt had been watching the Miz through dark, hooded eyes. At the mention of his brother, however, he'd felt an irresistible urge to break and hurt, and beat. He reached over and grabbed the back of the Miz's neck, smashing his face into the bar, doing it again, and again, and again. He heard someone screaming, and realized it was poor Maria, frozen stiff in her seat, her pretty cleavage spattered with her protector's blood.

Matt let the Miz fall to ground like a bag of trash, and began to walk away, before turning and coming to stand before Maria once more.

"You won't tell McMahon, will you?", he said, a ghost of a smile on his full lips.

She shook her head rapidly back and forth, her eyes wide.

"Good girl."

He leaned in and began to kiss her, pushing his tongue forcefully into her slack mouth. She whimpered in fear.

Matt pulled away after a few moments, his eyes closed in bliss. When he opened them again, his gaze swept over her dismissively, as if he didn't know her, or didn't care to.

Without another word, he walked out of the near-empty bar, leaving the mess he'd made behind him.

* * * * * * *

Mark paused outside of Jeff's hotel room, steeling himself for the imminent conversation. Sighing heavily, he knocked twice. He found himself fidgeting in his anxious state. He truly did not want to add to his young friend's burdens by telling him that he'd been suspended.

A moment later, the young Hardy opened the door. He smiled when he saw Mark standing there.

"Hey, Mark", he said, leaning against the doorframe, "Boy, McMahon kept you for a long time. Did he have a million script changes for you?"

Mark grimaced. Jeff immediately sensed something was wrong. His smile began to falter.

"What's wrong?", he asked, his voice suddenly very small.

Mark sighed again. "Let's go inside, kid." He placed a hand on Jeff's shoulder, and gently guided him into the room. He could feel the young man shaking under his touch. Oh god, he thought, this was not going to go well.

Jeff spun around to face him. "What's wrong?", he repeated, his voice unsteady.

Mark didn't quite know how to break this to him. He knew that he'd been Jeff's anchor ever since this bullshit with Matt had begun, and now, he was being forced to abandon him. He sat down heavily on the bed, leaning his elbows on his knees, avoiding Jeff's confused gaze.

"Mark, what-"

"Vince suspended me. For a month."

Jeff stared, sure that he hadn't heard right. "What are you talking about?"

Mark found that he was unable to look at the lost and frightened expression on the young Hardy's face. "Someone sent a disparaging letter to those internet wrestling news sites, with my name on it. It said some offensive things about the WWE, and Vince."  
"And he actually believed that you would write something like that?", said Jeff, his voice rife with despair.

"He had enough proof to convince himself that it _could've_ been me", Mark replied.

Jeff began pacing. "Matt's behind this. You know that."

The Deadman nodded noncommittally. He didn't want to bring Jeff's psychotic brother into the conversation, if he could help it.

"Mark, you know he-"

"Listen, Jeff", interrupted Mark, rising from the bed and taking the younger man by the shoulders, "This is a truly shitty situation. We both know that." Jeff nodded, looking down at the floor. Mark took his chin in hand, gently forcing the young Hardy to look at him. "But I'm not going to leave you, okay? Vince told me I'm barred from attending events, and from the backstage areas. But he can't prevent me from renting a room in a hotel with my own money. I'll just follow Smackdown on the road, and get rooms in the same places you stay. You won't be alone. And when you go to the shows, Jay can take over for me, so at least you'll have somebody to talk to."

Jeff looked up at the Deadman with tired, red-tinged eyes. "You don't have to do all of this for me", he said quietly.

Mark smiled sadly. "Knock it off, kid."

Jeff rubbed a hand across his face. "I'm so sorry you'll be missing Wrestlemania because of my brother's ridiculous bullshit."

"I never wanna hear an apology from you again. None of this is your fault. And I've had plenty of Wrestlemanias. A break might do my aching joints good. I _am_ getting old, after all."

Jeff couldn't help but smile. "True." He pointed at the Deadman's mop of long red hair. "And if I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times, having long hair when you're balding on the top doesn't do a thing but make you look _older_."

"Jeffrey", Mark growled warningly, "Don't make me Tombstone you."

The young Hardy stifled a quiet laugh behind his hand. Mark just shook his head.

"What the hell am I gonna do with you, kid?"

Jeff just smiled impishly in reply.

* * * * * * *

That night, Smackdown had a house show at the local arena. Jeff had been pitted against The Brian Kendrick, in a brutal No Disqualification match. He was exhausted, and sore. He couldn't wait to get back to the hotel, so that he could sleep.

"I truly enjoyed it when you hit Kendrick across the face with a garbage can lid", quipped Jay, who was walking Jeff to his rental.

The young Hardy laughed. "Well, he _did_ kinda ask for it."

Jay stopped walking. "I parked over this way", he said, pointing with his thumb, "I'm gonna go find my car. You gonna be alright to get back to the hotel?"

Jeff nodded. "Yeah, of course."

Jay grinned. "Don't tell Mark I left you alone for more than two seconds, or he'll rip my face off."

Rolling his eyes, Jeff said good night, and moved towards the row that he'd left his car in.

It was silent in the dim parking garage. Jeff spotted the black car up ahead, and he made for it.

A set of running footsteps resounded throughout the concrete structure suddenly, pounding up behind him. Before he could turn, or react, he was smashed on the back of the head, bringing him to his knees. He cried out with the pain of it.

A fist connected solidly with his jaw, throwing his head back like a jack-in-the-box on a spring. He felt blood pour from a cut lip. The fists continued to fly into his face, despite his efforts to block them. He felt himself growing slightly dizzy.

He needed to get away, and quickly. Maybe Jay was still around….

"Help!", he screamed, trying to punching out blindly at his attacker.

His efforts were rewarded with a kick to the gut. All the air left his lungs in a rush, and he began coughing and choking. Another kick to his ribs pulled a hoarse cry from his throat.

Desperate to escape, Jeff began to crawl towards his rental, his clothes becoming coated with the filth of the parking garage and the smell of gasoline. He whimpered in fear when he felt a foot come down on his back, holding him in place with painful pressure.

"Poor little Jeffy."

The soft voice, so full of disgust and hatred, made Jeff stiffen in fear. He swallowed nervously.

"W- What do you want, Matt?", he stammered, his voice quaking.

Matt pressed his foot down into Jeff's back, eliciting a pained cry from his younger brother. He smiled evilly as he looked at his younger sibling, powerless beneath his boot heel.

"I just came to offer my condolences about poor, poor Undertaker. Such a shame."

Matt let out a cruel laugh.

Jeff whimpered fearfully. The man holding him down sounded nothing like his brother. His brother was kind, and gentle, and warm. This person was sick, and perverted.

The younger Hardy began to squirm, trying to free himself. It only seemed to amuse Matt, who pressed down harder on Jeff's tortured back. The Enigma screamed in pain.

Before he could move, Matt removed his foot, and dropped down onto his brother's back, sitting on him. He twisted Jeff's arms painfully behind him, holding them at the wrists with one hand. His other hand fisted a clump of Jeff's colorful hair, yanking his head back harshly. The younger Hardy cried out at the rough treatment.

"Jesus Christ, Matty, just, please, let me go", he said, his voice breaking, "Please, stop it-"

Matt's gaze never left the back of his brother's head. A small, meditative smile never faltered on his full lips.

His eyes narrowed suddenly.

"Matt-" Jeff whimpered, feeling his brother tense up. He had a bad feeling about this.

All of a sudden, Matt pulled Jeff's hair again, harder. He leaned down, and whispered in his brother's ear.

"I told you that you would get hurt if you came near me again, Jeff. But, as usual, you never listen to me. Now look where you are."

Jeff tried to shake his head in protest, but found his hair still painfully restrained by Matt's tight grip.

Before he could react further to Matt's hateful words, however, he found his face being pushed forcefully into the concrete.

When Matt dragged his head back up by the hair, he was horrified to see the small pool of blood that had formed on the filthy garage floor. Blood was leaking out of his mouth, and out of his nose. He'd barely had time to recover before his face was smashed into the concrete floor with force once again.

The bloody pool widened.

"Matt- sssstop-", slurred Jeff, struggling weakly in his older brother's tight grip.

Once more, Matt snapped Jeff's head downwards. This time, he did not rise.

Matt stood, and looked down at his brother's still form. A grin split his face. This could not have gone any more perfectly if he'd tried.

Kneeling, he pulled a folded-up piece of notebook paper out of his back pocket, and slipped it into Jeff's hand.

His work done for now, Matt walked away, leaving his brother in a pool of his own blood.

* * * * * * *

"Yes, Hunter, I understand that writers are people too, and that even they have bad days, and that some of the worst storylines in WWE history have, at times, yielded good things. These things I do know", Shawn ranted, his arms waving around to demonstrate his points, "However, explain to me how I got stuck in a damn storyline for months with JBL, of all people, where the main focus was the friggin' economic downturn! What genius came up with that one?"

"Uh, I think Vince did", replied Hunter, scratching his beard.

"Figures", muttered Shawn.

The two were making their way through the immense parking garage after the Smackdown taping.

"I can't believe Vickie is doing the Big Show", quipped Hunter in his rough voice.

"Are you kidding?", replied Shawn, "I can't believe Show is doing _her_. I thought he had higher standards than that."

Hunter paused for a moment, looking around before speaking. "I think she's a man", he whispered.

Shawn burst out laughing. "Oh shut up!"

Hunter just looked at him.

"What proof could you possibly have that she's a man?"

Shawn suddenly stopped, realizing that he'd left Hunter behind him. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw his friend, standing there, looking down at the ground, his normally ruddy complexion turned sickly pale.

Shawn followed his gaze. His eyes widened in horror.

"Oh my god", he breathed.

Hunter bent down to feel Jeff's jugular vein for a pulse, and felt himself breathe again when he found one. The young man didn't look good. He was lying in a pool of his own blood, his handsome face bruised and bloodied, his clothes filthy. Someone had beaten the shit out of him, and left him for dead.

Hunter couldn't fathom who would do such a thing to Jeff Hardy. He was such a sweet kid, well-liked and respected in the locker room.

Shawn joined him at Jeff's side. "I called 911. Someone's on their way over."

Hunter nodded.

Shawn's eyes narrowed suddenly. "Hunter, do you see that?"

"What?"

"What is he holding?"

Hunter leaned in, then shrugged. "I don't know. Looks like a piece of paper to me."

Shawn's eyes widened. "He would not have been able to hold onto that while getting his ass beaten."

"So?"

"So, maybe the attacker put it there afterwards. Or, maybe Jeff wrote down the name of his attacker, knowing he would pass out. Either way, it could be a clue as to who did this. We should see what it says."

Hunter rolled his eyes. "You've been watching too much C.S.I. I'm cutting you off."

The Game did not hesitate, however, to carefully lean over the unconscious man and pry open his slack fingers, removing the piece of paper.

Shawn moved next to Hunter so that he could see as well.

Once they'd read it, however, they didn't know what to say. They just looked at each other uncomfortably, and gazed down at Jeff with a mixture of protectiveness, anger, and pity.

_Baby Brother-_

_I've upped the stakes in this little game of ours, as you observed tonight. I attacked you in a public place, and left you for our co-workers to find. Let the accusations fly. Let the mob come with torches and pitchforks. What the fools don't know is that I will never be fired, because I've had the foresight to protect myself. _

_You, Jeffrey, would do well, to remember that fact, when you're in McMahon's office, showing him this letter and your little scratches as evidence. _

_I hope I didn't hurt you too badly. I want you to be able to put up a fight at the time I so choose to destroy you._

_You are my little brother. And I hate you with all of my being, Jeffrey Nero Hardy. I will spend every waking moment of my life working to make yours a living hell, simply because of who you are. You don't measure up as a person, or as a man, or as a brother. I hate you. _

_And I am enjoying the destruction of you, piece by piece, by piece._

_Love,_

_Matt_

* * * * * * *

**Thought it would be fun to have a little DX cameo, right in the middle of all the madness. I guess that's where they do their best work, right?**

**I've had some major writer's block with this one, so I hope to start this story up again. Slowly, but surely, my friends. Slowly, but surely. :)**

**Review if you're bored, or if you're not, or if you just think I suck! ;)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Animal Luvr 4 Life, I'm glad to see someone is so gung ho about protecting Jeffy! ;) And don't worry, Matt'll get his, down the line; slashdlite, glad you're still with me, and I'll try to keep the updates moving a little more frequently from now on; ponygirl-loves-mcqueen, glad you're digging it :) Renna33, McMahon comes across as kind of a pig-headed idiot on the show, so I wanted to portray him that way (and I wish he'd come back to RAW; it was the best when he was on!) Nobody's Love, thank you, and I'll try to keep the unexpected stuff coming; Seraphalexiel, I'm glad you're enjoying the chaos as much as I am! :) Phoenix-Syren, some of your questions will be answered in this very chapter…**

**Thanks to all who reviewed!**

**As always, WWE owns all, I own nothing. **

_Beep. Beep._

The quiet and constant murmur of the hospital machinery was doing its best to lull Mark into an uncomfortable sleep.

He would've fallen asleep hours ago, in fact, were his mind not saturated with restless turmoil.

He couldn't take his stormy eyes off of Jeff's sleeping face. Swollen skin, ugly bruises, and scattered lacerations told the story of what had happened in the garage last night.

He rubbed a hand across his weary eyes, silently berating himself for the thousandth time. He should've known Matt would do something like this.

He should've been there to protect Jeff.

Mark reached out, tentatively, and pushed a stray lock of blue hair behind Jeff's ear, being careful not to touch any of his fresh bruises. Shaking his head slowly, the Deadman took a deep, unsteady breath.

"I'm sorry, kid", he said softly, "I screwed up."

"Mark?" A soft voice sounded from the doorway.

Swiveling his head around, the Deadman frowned when he saw Jay standing there, looking contrite, a vase of fresh flowers in hand. Mark stood, rising to his full, intimidating height, and walked over.

"Put those down", he said, gesturing to the flowers. The tenderness in his voice had been replaced with cold fury. "I need to speak with you."

Swallowing nervously, Jay put the flowers on the windowsill, and followed the Deadman out into the hallway, glancing sadly at Jeff as he went.

He noted the tension in Mark's stance, the way he'd balled his hands into white-knuckled fists. Jay knew that he deserved any and all crap that came his way. He felt terrible for leaving Jeff last night. He hadn't thought that anyone might be following them.

He hadn't signed up for this. Jeff wasn't supposed to get hurt. God damn Adam. He would kill that slippery fucker when he got his hands on him.

"Where the fuck were you?!", growled Mark, with no pretense, "You were supposed to be with him, all night!"

"I was, god dammit!", replied Jay defensively, "I just… We separated in the garage, as soon as he spotted his car. He was right there, man! A few feet away from it!"

Undertaker narrowed his eyes dangerously. "A few feet was all Matt needed to beat the living fuck out of him."

Jay couldn't meet Mark's furious glare. "I know. I fucked up, Mark, okay?" He looked up into the maelstrom that was the Deadman's gaze, his eyes pleading. "I'm sorry."

He knew that the sentiment was insufficient as soon as it left his mouth, but he didn't know what else to say.

Mark just grunted in reply. Without another word, he returned to the room, and to his vigil by Jeff's bedside.

Taking Mark's silence as some sort of acceptance, Jay followed him into the room. He sat down and studied Jeff's battered face, wincing inwardly at the damage done.

Mark took one of the young Hardy's limp hands into his own and bowed his head, his shoulders sagging beneath the weight of his concern. Jay bowed his head as well, in silent sympathy.

Silently, they sat, and waited for their friend to wake up.

* * * * * * *

"You did WHAT???!!!", yelled Adam, his hands pulling at his hair in agitation.

"First of all, shut up", said Matt in a warning tone, "I don't want the entire roster coming down on our asses because you couldn't keep your drama queen ass quiet."

Adam lowered his voice to a frantic whisper. "What the fuck are you talking about? You beat Jeff up in the arena parking garage and left a note behind, saying it was you? What the fuck is wrong with you?! Are you mental?!"

Matt slapped his cohort across the face, stunning Edge into silence.

"Now that I have your attention", the older Hardy said calmly, "I can tell you about _your_ part in all of this."

Edge rubbed his cheek where Matt's hand had stung him, his eyes watching Hardy suspiciously. "What part?"

"The part that prevents both of us from getting fired. We need to take steps."

Adam began chewing on his nails and spitting them out. His wide eyes never left Matt's face.

The older Hardy leaned in, a crooked smile set upon his face. "I hate to say it, Adam", he said, "But it's time for you to pay Vickie another visit."

"And _I _hate to say it, Matthew", replied Edge, furious that he'd partnered with such an idiot, "But Vickie is not the highest-ranked person in this company. Jeff will undoubtedly take your letter to McMahon the second he's able to walk again-"

"Vickie has been with this company for how long now?", Matt interrupted.

"What the fuck does that matter?!"

"Just answer the question", Matt ordered, his tone quiet and dangerous.

Edge sighed, annoyed. "I don't know. At least a decade."

Matt looked satisfied with this answer. "And she's worked on a managerial level for years. Close to McMahon, or at least, closer to him than the wrestlers ever get."

Edge glared. "What is the fucking point?"

"The point", Matt replied smugly, "is that in all that time, she must have gleaned some tidbit of information on McMahon. Something incriminating that would make people sit up and look at him in a different light. Maybe he cheated on Linda with one of the divas, maybe he launders company money. Who knows? I want you to find out for me."

"You want to fucking blackmail _McMahon_?!", Edge's face was the picture of horror, "Are you out of your god damn mind?!"

Matt just smirked.

The Rated R Superstar shook his head rapidly back and forth. "Hell no", he said, "I am not doing it."

Before he could react, Matt had wrapped a hand around his throat, and thrown him into the wall. He began to cough and choke as the pressure increased around his larynx.

"You will get the information we need", Matt snarled, "Because you're in just as deep as I am, now. We'll be needing that information for leverage when the shit hits the fan. Yes?", Matt leaned in expectantly. Adam let out an uncomfortable-sounding splutter in reply. Matt ignored it. "Now, if I see you again, and you haven't taken care of this, I swear to god, Edge, I will gut you like a fish. Do we understand each other?"

The blonde superstar nodded weakly in reply, desperate for air. He collapsed limply to the ground when Matt released him.

"Go. Get out of here", Matt growled, gesturing towards the door of his private locker room.

Scowling, holding his neck, Adam rose and shuffled towards the door.

He'd go and freshen up a bit before seeking Vickie out in her office.

He shook his head as he walked down the brightly-lit arena hallway. He was fucked. Truly, utterly fucked.

* * * * * * *

Mark sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair the hospital had provided him, one arm resting limply on the side-rail of Jeff's hospital bed. Across the room, Jay slumbered against the wall, lightly snoring.

Mark sighed heavily. He envied the blonde superstar his ability to fall asleep under these conditions. The Deadman knew he wouldn't be able to sleep until Jeff opened his eyes.

Sitting up straight, he reached into the back pocket of his worn blue jeans, pulling a dirty, crumpled piece of notebook paper out. As quietly as he was able, he straightened it out so that it would be readable.

For the fifth time, Mark gazed darkly at the letter Shawn and Hunter had handed to him in the waiting room hours earlier. The fact that it had been left so blatantly on Jeff's unconscious body infuriated him nearly beyond reason.

His eyes scanned over the page, taking in every insult, and every threat.

"_I hate you with all of my being, Jeffrey Nero Hardy."_

"_I will spend every waking moment of my life working to make yours a living hell."_

"_You don't measure up as a person, or as a man, or as a brother."_

This would kill Jeff if he saw it.

His grip tightened on the battered piece of paper, crumpling it in his fist. He pretended that it was Matt Hardy he was crushing with the strength of his monstrous hand.

"Mark?"

A weak, unsteady voice suddenly broke his anger-filled haze, and he dropped the letter into his lap as quickly as if it were on fire.

Mark's gaze turned to the bed, where Jeff was watching him with glazed, half-lidded eyes.

"Hey, kid, it's about time you woke up", the Deadman said, a gentle smile on his chiseled features.

The younger man struggled to sit up, then paused, a wince of pain clouding his features.

"Hey, easy there", said Mark, trying to ease him back down to the pillows, "There's no need to be jumping out of bed just yet."

"Fuck, that hurts", Jeff cursed, holding his bruised side.

Mark forced himself to push down the rising fury in his gut, cresting higher and higher with each wince and gasp that Jeff evinced. He promised himself, silently, that Matt would feel far worse when he got his hands on him.

"How did I get here?", Jeff asked quietly, his pain-filled green eyes locked on Mark, "I passed out after…" He trailed off, obviously not wanting to say anymore.

"Shawn and Hunter found you, laid out in the parking garage", Mark replied, his voice shaking with anger, "They called an ambulance, and they were kind enough to call me after you'd been brought in for observation."

Jeff seemed satisfied with this answer.

"Jeff", said Mark, his rough voice as gentle as it ever got, "The second you're out of here, we're going to McMahon. No more fucking around with this. We're reporting Matt's actions, and you'll show him every bruise on your damn body if you have to, until he agrees to either suspend or fire that bastard brother of yours."

The young Hardy began to nervously pick at the loose threads of his blanket, his gaze directed firmly downwards.

"Jeff?", prompted Mark, watching his young friend warily.

The Enigma looked up, his face pale, his eyes wet with unshed tears.

"He's my brother, Mark. This business is his life. It always has been. I get this feeling that, in a lot of ways, it's all he has left. Even after everything he's done to me, well, I don't know how I could take that away from him", he said quietly, "What the hell am I supposed to do?" He dropped his head into his hands.

Mark wished to god he had an answer for him.

* * * * * * *

"Thanks, Vickie, I had a good time." Edge swallowed the bile in his throat as he tried to suppress the horrible memories of the tryst he'd had last night with Smackdown's GM.

"Oh, me too, Addy-poo", she gushed, smiling widely, her great horse-teeth jutting out the front of her pink-lipsticked mouth. She sauntered up to the blonde superstar, a pouting smile on her wide lips.

Wrapping her arms around his waist, she said quietly, "You won't tell anyone about that little thing I let slip, will you? I know how you boys like to gossip in the locker room-"

Closing his eyes and pretending it was anyone else, Edge leaned down and kissed the nasty beast. Drawing back with a feigned smile, he replied, "Your secret's safe with me, Vickie."

He pulled out of her tight grasp then, and walked out of her office, turning back to shoot her one last crooked grin before his departure. He heard her sigh as he turned his back.

Yup, if there was one thing he'd learned, it was to always leave them wanting more.

He moved down the near-empty arena halls, towards the locker rooms. He had to find Matt.

All of the ass-kissing, pillow-talking, and love-making had finally paid off. Because Vickie had dropped a bomb last night.

Maybe their jobs would be saved after all.

* * * * * * *

**A short-ish chapter, but I needed to post something, for God's sake! What will happen if ( or when ) Jeff sees the letter? What did Vickie tell Edge? What else does Matt have planned for poor Jeffro? AH! So much to think about, so little time! REVIEW! I LOVE REVIEWS!!! ;)**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: This story's getting out of control, but in a good way, I think. (Not good for poor Jeffy, though!) Animal Luvr 4 Life, don't worry, justice will be served eventually; I threw the blackmailing Vince thing in as an afterthought, actually, but it was so outlandishly ridiculous that it made me laugh, so I thought I'd try to make it work in a dramatic setting; I guess we'll see if it does! Renna33, Matt truly is a mental case, and he's only gonna get worse, so stick around! Slashdlite, thanks for the review, and keep reading to find out what Vickie's secret was! Seraphalexiel, I'm glad you dig asshole Matt (I smiled when I read that in your review; I think I'll call him that from now on); he is super, SUPER fun to write, even more fun than Jeffro, who I love and adore and eat Skittles in honor of.**

**Thanks to all who reviewed!**

**As always, WWE owns all, I own nada.**

Jay Reso walked dejectedly towards the small Italian café. He hated Italian food, and the person he was meeting knew it well.

Jay rolled his eyes as he read the chipped and weathered sign above the door. "Luigi's Spaghetti Hut" was emblazoned across a once-white background, with a horribly-rendered drawing of a pasta chef grinning from ear to ear as he brandished an overlarge plate of spaghetti and meatballs.

And there was a perfectly good diner right next door.

Shoulders slumped, Jay entered the restaurant, his nose crinkling in distaste. The rich smell of pasta and baking cheese attacked his nostrils, making his stomach curl in on itself.

He looked around, and immediately located Edge, sitting at a table near the back, a huge plate of spaghetti in front of him.

Frowning, he took an empty seat across from him.

"What did you want, Adam?", he asked, glaring daggers.

Edge grinned at his ex-friend, a small splotch of spaghetti sauce on the side of his mouth. "Hello, Jay. Not in a very good mood today, are we?"

"You'd better start talking, asshole", growled Jay, "Or I'm leaving. And going immediately to McMahon's office."

Adam scoffed. "And you plan on telling McMahon what_,_ exactly? That big bad Edge is forcing you to spy on Jeff Hardy for his evil brother Matt? He'll probably tell you to stop bothering him with nonsense, and then the minute you leave, he'll call the creative team together to start writing it into a new storyline. C'mon, don't be such a retard, Jay!"

Jay stood, and reached across the table, grabbing Adam by the front of his shirt and forcing him up so they were eye to eye.

"Jeff wasn't supposed to get hurt, you slimy piece of shit! He's in the hospital for christ's sake!"

Adam only smiled tightly, his eyes narrowing. "Let go of me", he said. His tone was distinctly threatening. Adam's eyes rolled to the right, settling on the other patrons of the restaurant. "You wouldn't want to dismember me in front of the little children over there, right?" Adam's arrogant smirk made Jay want to hurt him badly, but he was right. There was nothing he could do in here. The blond superstar growled in frustration, and threw Edge down, forcefully. The chair he landed on skidded back a few inches on the tile floor, making a high-pitched sound that closely resembled nails on a chalkboard.

The Rated R Superstar sat up straight, straightening his clothing and fixing his hair in the process. He pulled his seat back into the table. Jay just stood there, glaring at him. Adam motioned for him to sit.

After Jay sat down reluctantly, Edge asked slowly, "So, how is little Jeffy doing, anyway?"

"Why the fuck should you care?", snarled Jay in return.

"Interested parties want to know."

Jay stared. _Matt _wanted to know, in other words_._ "No way. I'm not telling that fucking psycho anything that will help him hurt Jeff again."

Edge sighed mournfully. "Fine. Guess I'll have to go to Vickie and inform her of your new status in the company. Hope you like the idea of fighting Kung Fu Naki and Jimmy Wang Yang in dark matches, cause that's the only action you're gonna see. And it's such a shame too, Jay, because you're such a talented wrestler, and all I'm asking for is a tiny status report on Jeff Hardy, which is practically nothing."

Jay felt his gut clench at the not-so-subtle threat. He wasn't ready to be relegated to the back burner, not after all he'd gone through to get to this point in his career.

But he wasn't ready to sell out Jeff to save himself, either.

Something would have to give here, and soon. Because he'd known Edge long enough to know that the only one who'd ever won his manipulative little games was Edge himself.

He would not lose this game. Too much was at stake. But for now, he would cooperate, and make Adam believe that he was beginning to lose his spirit in the face of losing his job.

"Jay", Adam said, his tone impatient, "I don't have all day. Tell me about Jeff, or I head to Vickie's office right after lunch."

"Fine", he said quietly, "But you have to promise me you and Matt will leave him alone to heal. He couldn't handle a visit from you right now."

Adam's lips quirked in a small smile. "He's that bad, eh?"

Shoulders slumped in defeat, Jay said quietly, "Your new best friend beat the living hell out of him. When I got to the hospital, he was unconscious, black and blue and swollen up. His face looked like a truck had hit it."

Adam sneered. "Poor, poor little Jeffy. Such a shame." He shrugged suddenly, grinning widely. "Oh well. He probably asked for it anyway, the whining little bitch."

Jay's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Don't make me fucking deck you in the middle of this restaurant, man, cause I don't feel like traumatizing those children over there, nor do I feel like getting suspended just a few weeks into my re-instatement."

Adam raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Same old Jay. Always ready to fight."

"Fuck you", Jay snapped.

"Please, by all means, continue your report."

"What else is there to say?", Jay asked, confusion written all over his face, "What do you want to know?"

"Has our young friend Jeffro woken up yet?", asked Adam, his mouth full of noodles.

"Yeah, so what?"

Edge swallowed the spaghetti, and went for another forkful. "How is he?"

"In a lot of fucking pain!", replied Jay furiously, "How the hell do you think?! Matt smashed his face into the concrete three or four times! He kicked him in the ribs, and in the stomach! He can barely sit up without help!"

"Poor little Jeffro. Such a shame." Edge shook his head in mock distress, an unpleasant smirk twisting his lips. He shoveled another huge forkful of spaghetti into his open mouth, chewing noisily. Jay made a sound of disgust.

"And how has he been reacting to Matty's little love note?", Adam asked as he chewed, "Has he been reading it, over and over, tears streaming down those pretty, black-and-blue cheeks?"

Jay just stared, unable to hide the confusion in his face. "What 'love note'?", he asked slowly.

Adam's jaws stopped working abruptly, and he sucked a stray noodle into his mouth, swallowing hard.

"You know what I'm talking about, asshole", replied Adam, sounding more and more uncertain with each passing word, "Don't fucking lie to me-"

"I have no idea what you're talking about", Jay answered calmly. He watched as Adam quickly became unglued, as the realization hit that Jay was telling the truth.

Adam's ex-partner smiled for the first time since he'd arrived. "Part of your plan go sour on you there, buddy?"

"Go fuck yourself, Jay!", Adam snarled in return. He seemed to be freaking out a bit.

Jay stood, leaning over so that his face was uncomfortably close to Edge's.

"You seem a little nervous all of a sudden, Adam. Is Matt gonna pound your face in when he finds out that Jeff didn't get any note?"

Adam looked away. "You don't know shit", he mumbled softly.

"What about this fucking note?!", said Jay, perhaps a little too loudly. He heard audible gasps, obviously coming from the table where the family was seated. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the parents shuffling around, getting their children ready to leave in a hurry. Grimacing in embarrassment, Jay sat down again.

"I suppose you're also gonna tell me that Mark showed up at the hospital", Adam said, his voice suddenly carrying tinges of defeat.

"Yeah, so what?"

Adam began to chew on his fingernails. "Fuck", he said to himself, "Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!"

"What are you planning to do to Jeff next?" Jay couldn't help himself. It just came out.

Adam looked at Jay. His large eyes were wide, and disconcertingly wild. "You know, I brought you into this, Jay, because I was sure I could trust you. But all you've done, it seems, is work against what I'm trying to do here. All I hear are constant complaints. And who knows if you're even telling me everything I need to know?" Adam's eyes widened as he suddenly had a thought. "And what if you've told Jeff everything about our plans, and now you're actually working for him? How am I supposed to know?" The Rated R Superstar sighed tiredly, running a hand through tangled blonde locks. "Jay, I'm just trying to protect my championship. That's all."

Jay glared. "You protect championships in the ring, Adam, not in the parking garage. I think what you are doing to Jeff is disgusting, and I've never made a secret of that. You'll just have to decide for yourself if you want to trust me."

With that, the blonde superstar rose to leave.

He stopped before he'd walked two steps, however, as he had a sudden thought.

"This note you were talking about", Jay prodded, "What did it say?"

Adam shook his head. "Trust me", he replied, "You don't wanna know."

* * * * * * *

Matt left Jeff's house through the back way. He locked the door with the key Jeff had given him in better times. He rubbed fingertips down the smooth wood of the door, thinking over what he'd done.

The older Hardy allowed a slow smile to creep across his face. When his baby brother came home to his new house, he would find a surprise waiting for him.

A terrible surprise.

* * * * * * *

"C'mon kid, there's no one here."

Jeff pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up around his face, effectively blocking it from view. He didn't want anyone to see him like this. At his friend's assurance that no one was about, the young Hardy emerged from the shadowy corner he'd been hiding in and began walking down the brightly-lit hallway, Mark at his side.

The two of them were making their way towards McMahon's office in the bowels of the arena. Jeff had been discharged from the hospital two days prior, and Mark had finally talked him into speaking with McMahon about the situation face-to-face. The young Hardy was extremely anxious, and upset. He had no idea what he was going to say to Vince. But Mark already knew what would happen. Those bruises would speak for him. Matt had screwed himself when he touched his younger brother.

The two of them reached Vince's temporary office then. The wooden door was propped open, most likely to allow some semblance of air flow into the small underground room. The chairman sat at a nondescript wooden desk, typing on a laptop.

Mark knocked on the doorframe.

Vince looked up after a moment, his eyes settling on the smaller, hunched figure standing at Mark's shoulder.

"Mind if we come in?", asked the Deadman.

The chairman's eyes narrowed as he looked at Mark. "Didn't I suspend your ass?"

"Yup", he replied with a shrug, "But as I told you before, I didn't do what you suspended me for, so I figured it would be alright to accompany Jeff here. He has to talk to you."

"Hardy?", asked Vince, straining to see into the shadows of the hood, "Get in here and sit down if you need to talk. I hate people that hover by my door."

Moving slowly into the office, Jeff took a seat in front of Vince's desk. Mark took the other.

"What's on your mind, Jeff?", asked the chairman.

Sighing, Jeff reached up and pulled back the cowl of his sweatshirt. Vince's breath hitched in his throat as he stared at the young man's face. It was a map of bruises and cuts, ugly black-and-blue marring milky pale skin.

"Jesus Christ", breathed Vince, "What the hell happened to you?"

"My brother happened", said Jeff quietly, looking away. He replaced the hood, throwing his face once more into shadow.

"Your- _Matt_ did this?!", Vince exclaimed, his eyes wide. He couldn't believe it. He'd known both boys for years. They'd practically spent the entirety of their formative years as his employees. Matt had always put his little brother first, going out of his way to protect and care for him, no matter the cost. And now…

Vince had never seen Jeff looking so broken, so defeated.

"Jeff", the chairman said slowly, not quite knowing how to handle this delicate situation, "Did you two get into a fight to cause this? Was there something that happened that might have set him off?"

"No!", Jeff replied earnestly, "This just came out of nowhere! I mean, you saw what happened at the Rumble."

Vince rubbed his forehead, feeling the beginnings of a headache pounding away behind his eyes. "Yes. But I never, in a million years, would have thought that your brother would lay a hand on you outside of the ring."

He stood. "Take two weeks off, Jeff. You need to rest up, and let yourself heal."

"But Wrestlemania-"

"Will come around again next year. No buts. I mean it. I won't have you wrestling like this. And as for you…" He turned to the Deadman. "As long as you're on leave, maybe you can make sure this doesn't happen again."

Mark stood, and nodded in acquiescence.

Jeff rose as well. He looked at Mr. McMahon with a meaningful gaze. "You're not going to fire Matty, are you?"

Vince sighed. "That depends on him, son."

Jeff nodded miserably, and began to leave. He turned around when he realized Mark wasn't with him. "Mark? You coming?"

"In a minute, kid. I've gotta talk to Vince about my contract. Mind waiting for me in the hallway?"

Jeff's gaze darkened for a split second, before he nodded. He stood outside the open portal, leaning against the cold, white-washed wall, every muscle in his body aching. His eyes narrowed in anger when the door was shut suddenly.

"Contract discussion my ass", he muttered bitterly.

Teeth clenched, he moved silently over to the door, and pressed his ear against it. He could hear their deep, muffled voices barely carrying through the wood. He caught only pieces of the conversation, but those pieces were enough.

"…wanted to show you this."

"What is it?"

"A letter….. Jeff's unconscious body… Matt."

"Show me."

There was a pause, as Vince was obviously reading the letter over. Jeff was angry that he hadn't been privy to this information himself. He wanted to know what that letter said.

"My god."

"…lost his mind."

"I'll speak… soon as possible."

Jeff scrambled away from the door as he heard the voices growing closer. He affected an air of boredom, leaning against the wall and looking down at his watch. The door swung open, and Mark exited the office.

"Ready to go, kid?", he asked.

"Yeah", Jeff replied quietly, shuffling towards the long, bright hallway.

"Heal up, Jeff", said McMahon, "We'll hopefully see you back here in two weeks."

Jeff nodded, and said goodbye.

His mind was swimming with unanswered questions. What letter had Mark been talking about, and why had the chairman reacted so strongly to it?

Jeff glanced over at Mark. He didn't know why the Deadman had kept this from him, but he fully intended to find out.

* * * * * * *

Matt had gotten in from Cameron just about an hour ago. He was tired, and in sore need of a long, hot shower. He knew that he was expected at the arena in a few hours' time, but he couldn't bring himself to move right now.

Suddenly, a loud knock came at the door. His eyes shot open, moving towards the direction of the offending noise.

"What do you want?!", he yelled, not bothering with any niceties.

"It's Adam", came the muffled reply, "Let me in."

Groaning in annoyance, Matt rolled off of the pillow-top mattress and threw the door open.

"What is it?", he hissed, glaring.

"Jesus, you're touchy", said Adam, pushing past into the room.

Matt slammed the door, causing his blonde comrade to jump. "I'm exhausted, and I have to wrestle Mark fucking Henry at that house show tonight, so get to the point so I can get some god damn sleep!"

Adam stared. This was not going to go well.

"Um, well, I just wanted to let you know that I talked to Jay. He'd been over to the hospital to see your brother."

Matt's irritation at being disturbed seemed to have been forgotten the moment this was mentioned. "Go on", he prompted, sitting on the bed.

"He told me some pretty interesting shit. He said the Undertaker was there-"

"Not surprising. What else?"

"Um, he said Jeff was in a lot of pain. That his face was all swollen up and bruised and that he was having trouble sitting up on his own-"

"Again, not surprising. Nice to hear, but not surprising. Is that all you have for me? What about the fucking note I left for him?"

Adam cleared his throat. "Well, that's kind of what's interesting. Jay said that he never saw a note." He tensed, as if bracing himself to take a blow to the face.

Matt's cold brown eyes narrowed. "And you believe him?"

Adam nodded mutely.

"I've never trusted, Jay", Matt's voice was soft and frigid, "I think he would sell us out in a heartbeat. And the fact that you so readily put your trust in him makes me wonder where your loyalties lie, Adam."

"I- I'm with you", stammered Edge.

"You'd better be", said Matt threateningly, "Because you'll get far worse than Jeffy did, should you suddenly decide to bail on me."

Adam shook his head at the ridiculousness of such a thing ever occurring.

Matt lay down and closed his eyes. "Get out."

Without another word, Adam crept out of the room, closing the door with a soft click.

So, his baby brother hadn't gotten his message. He wasn't worried about that. He'd just give him another one.

And then he would watch Jeff fall apart before his eyes.

* * * * * * *

"Mark, I have to talk to you."

The Deadman looked up curiously. "About what, kid?"

Jeff's gaze was firmly averted. "I, um, overheard you when you were in Vince's office. You were talking about a letter, and about Matt and me." Jeff looked up. "I wanna know what you've been keeping from me."

Mark blinked in surprise. He hadn't been expecting that.

"It's nothing worth hearing about Jeff, believe me", he said, eyes intense on his young friend's face.

"Don't fucking lie to me, Mark!", Jeff cried, "It was important enough that you brought it to Vince's attention!"

The Deadman dropped a hand onto Jeff's quaking shoulder. "It's true, Matt left a note for you after he… did what he did in the parking garage. But I don't want you reading it, Jeff. There's no reason you should."

"Do you have it?" Jeff's voice was lifeless, devoid of emotion. It scared Mark, hearing his young friend sound so desolate and hopeless.

"Like I said, Jeff, there's no reason-"

"Do you have it, or not?", Jeff hissed furiously.

Mark nodded staidly. "I do."

"Hand it over, then." The younger man's tone brooked no argument. Mark bristled at being ordered around, but he forced himself to remember who it was he was dealing with. Jeff was simply upset. He could certainly understand that.

"Give me the note, Mark", said Jeff, a warning note lacing his voice.

Mark gazed down at him with sad eyes, and shook his head no.

"Give it to me, god damn you!", Jeff yelled furiously. He punched the solid wall of muscle that was the Undertaker's chest, hitting him blindly again and again. Tears began to obscure his vision, running unchecked down his abused cheeks. "Fuck you, Mark!", sobbed Jeff, "Why won't you let me read Matty's letter? I just wanna see what he wrote to me! I miss him so much…" He trailed off, sounding heartbroken.

Mark grabbed Jeff gently by the shoulders. "Listen to me, kid, alright? The Matty you know had nothing to do with writing that letter. The jealous, conniving, bastard who has, for some reason, taken over your brother's brain wrote it. So there's absolutely no reason you need to read it. Because it'll only cause you pain if you do."

Jeff sniffed and rubbed across his eyes.

"Get rid of it then", he said softly.

Mark smiled crookedly and ruffled Jeff's colorful hair. "That's my boy."

* * * * * * *

Matt whistled as he made his way into the locker room area. He was in a good mood tonight. He ignored the other wrestlers, who immediately began whispering and pointing fingers in his direction the moment he entered the room. Stupid gossipy bitches.

"Hey Matt", called Rey Mysterio suddenly, "You seen The Miz around lately?"

He sounded angry. A tide of angry muttering rose around his boldly-asked question.

Matt turned to face the shorter man. "Hmm… Miz.. Miz… Oh, that jackass with the bad haircut and terrible shorts? Hangs around a bit too much with Johnny Morrison, if you know what I mean? _That_ Miz?"

"You put him in the fucking hospital, man!", said a glaring CM Punk, moving up to stand next to Rey, "What the fuck is your problem?"

Matt's cold eyes appraised the pale, tattooed man. "Wanna join him there? I'm sure they'll have a bed available for you."

Punk moved forward swiftly, his fists clenched, ready to fight.

"Hey Hardy!"

Both men froze, and looked towards the back of the locker room.

Hunter Hearst Helmsly and Shawn Michaels stood, glowering fiercely at the older Hardy sibling.

"You know, Matty, it is a crying fucking shame, what has been going on between you and Jeff", said Shawn, "There's no reason for it."

"Fuck off, Shawn", replied Matt, "You guys don't know shit."

"Ah, but you're wrong there", interjected Hunter, "You see, we know plenty. We know that you attacked Jeffro the other night in the parking garage."

"That was _you_?" , cried Chavo, who looked horrified.

"Why is he still wrestling tonight?"

"Does Vince know about this?"

Various angry cries, most of which were for Matt's blood, could be heard over the din of excited conversation. Everyone seemed disgusted, and a little afraid, of him. Good, thought Matt, let them be afraid.

"We saw that McMahon was on his way down here to talk to you, and we don't know what it's about. But we just thought we'd mention the fact that we're onto you. And if you try to deny the attack, we will find a way to prove that you did it."

Matt glared poison at Hunter and Shawn. They returned his gaze with their typical, confident smirks.

Suddenly, the door to the locker room swung open, and Mr. McMahon strode in.

When he spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically somber.

"Matthew, we need to talk."

* * * * * * *

**Too many sub-plots! My brain is exploding! What did Matt do inside poor Jeffy's house? What did Vickie tell Edge about Mr. McMahon? What is Mr. McMahon going to say to Matt? What else does Matt have planned for Jeff? Is Jeff going to lose his mind? Why did I give Chavo a line in this story?**

**Find out the answers to all these questions (except the Chavo thing) in the next episode of Papercuts!!! Oh, and review, review, review………. ;)**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Seraphalexiel, your review made me smile; you seem to have to have a pretty good handle on who can be described as what in this story; it's good that at least one person out there knows what's going on, because I find myself staring at the screen in bewilderment more and more (maybe it's just a case of very early senility setting in). Renna33, I love your enthusiasm! Your questions will be answered this chapter, so read on… slashdlite, I love your analytical reviews, there are times when they make me think about what I've written, and help me to figure out if I've missed anything; so thanks! :) Animal Luvr 4 Life, you may just be right… ;) ExtremeDiva18, thanks for reading! Onions, I'm glad you're excited and all, but don't cry. **

**Thanks, reviewers! **

**As always, WWE owns all, I own nothing.**

Matt smiled innocently as he accompanied Mr. McMahon to a private room down the hall.

"What's this about, sir?", he asked. He sounded utterly confused, as any guiltless man would.

"I think you know exactly what this is about, Matthew", replied Vince. He didn't look at Matt, just kept his gaze on the hallway ahead of them.

"No, sir", said Matt, a note of false confusion in his tone.

They came to the doorway of a small office then. Vince ushered Matt inside, then shut the door. The chairman took a seat at the desk, motioning for Matt to sit as well.

The older Hardy shook his head. "I'd rather stand, if you don't mind."

Vince shrugged. "Suit yourself." The chairman leaned forward heavily, his elbows resting on the hard wood of the borrowed desk. He looked tired. "So, let's just put it out there. You claim complete innocence in the beating of your brother-"

Matt gasped, feigning horror. "Of course I do!" He schooled his features into a façade of puzzlement and hurt. "Are you implying otherwise? Vince, why would you ever accuse me of that?"

"I didn't accuse you. Jeff did."

"Oh my god…", breathed Matt. He collapsed into a chair and dropped his head into his hands, acting as if his world were falling apart. "Why would he say that? I mean, we've been having our differences lately, but I would never hurt him!"

Vince studied the older Hardy, his eyes unflagging as he observed the emotions playing across Matt's darkly handsome face. He looked distressed, saddened, a bit frantic. It was all almost too dramatic for Vince's liking.

The chairman took a breath.

"Jeff came to me and said you jumped him in the parking garage", Vince said quietly.

"But-"

"Quiet!", snarled the chairman. Matt sat back, a hurt look on his face.

Vince shook his head, his face tight with some unidentifiable emotion.

"Now, I was flabbergasted when your brother came to me with these claims, Matt. I just couldn't believe it. I wanted to absolutely know for sure, before I said anything to you. I wanted to make sure this wasn't just a ploy on Jeff's part to get you into trouble." Vince looked down. This was obviously hard for him. Getting a hold of himself, he met Matt's wide-eyed gaze, fury behind his eyes. "Through my influence, I managed to get a copy of the security video from the parking garage." The chairman stood, and leaned over the desk, his gaze intense on the older Hardy. "I watched the tape. I saw everything. So you can stop the innocent act now."

For a moment, Matt stared at the chairman like a cornered animal, his eyes growing cold, hard, and predatory. Then, suddenly, he smiled, leaning back in the uncomfortable chair as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"I should've realized Jeffy might grow a pair and report his injuries. I thought I'd beaten him badly enough to shut him up, though. My mistake." Matt sighed. "Oh well. No use crying over spilled milk. Or blood."

Vince looked disgusted. "I read the note you left for him in the garage. You are a world-class bastard, Matt."

The older Hardy threw his head back and laughed. "Yeah, I suppose I am. Such a shame that neither of the Hardy Boys are what people thought they were. Jeff is a whining coward, and Matt is an abusive megalomaniac."

McMahon looked sad as he picked up a manila envelope. He pulled a piece of paper out of it. "You remember this, Matt? Do you remember when I first offered you and your brother these contracts to sign? I'd rarely seen two brothers who were so happy, or so close. I was proud to offer you this contract. Now, it makes me sick, having you associated with my company. You messed up, Matt. And it saddens me to do this, because I know how much you love wrestling, and I know how much you'll regret this, down the line. But I can't keep you on anymore. I'm sorry to say it, but you're terminated, effective immediately."

He moved to tear up the contract.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Matt's voice was quiet, but something in his tone made Vince freeze up.

Vince glared, his hands poised to tear the representation of Matt's livelihood into bits.

"Oh? And why not?"

Matt leered at him. "Because", he said, "I know something I'm probably not supposed to know."

Vince slowly put the contract back on the desk. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Well", said Matt, "everyone knows that, as the chairman, you always have access to the best ass in and around the company. But, what everyone does not know, especially your lovely wife Linda, is that you at one point had an ongoing affair with Hacksaw Jim Duggan, of all people. I'd wondered why he's been on RAW so often lately…"

"You little motherfucker…", breathed Vince, his eyes wild with rage.

"Are you still fucking him, Vince?", asked Matt, a coy smile perched on his lips, "That's actually a horrible, _horrible_ mental image, but different strokes for different folks, I guess."

Without warning, the enraged chairman leaned over the desk and punched Matt across the face, hard. The Hardy brother rubbed at his jaw, wiping a small bit of blood off of his cut lip.

"If you think that bringing up my affair with Jim is going to save your sorry fucking job, then you are wrong, my friend!", snarled Vince, his face a mask of rage, "I want you out of here, now! You are fired!" He tore up the contract and threw it in the trash can. "And if I see you anywhere near one of my shows again, I am calling the fucking police. Do you hear me?! Get out!"

Matt's face was blank as he watched his contract go into the trash. He felt a pang of sadness, and anger. He quickly buried them. They wouldn't help him now.

He left the arena without a word, and without looking back. He had no reason to look back. His path had been made clear to him now.

He had work to do.

* * * * * * *

Jeff sighed contentedly. He was going home.

Mark, who was driving with one arm hanging loosely out of the open window so he could feel the warm southern breeze, glanced over at his young friend.

"I feel like I haven't been home in ages", said Jeff, whose wounds were already looking much better. The swelling had returned to normal, and the bruises had faded into gray and yellow-toned obscurity.

Jeff's vitality had returned, simply from being away from the white-washed walls of the arenas.

Mark let a smile touch his lips as he returned his attention to the country road. He let his eyes roam the landscape. North Carolina was beautiful. It made him think longingly of his home in Texas.

Jeff sat up suddenly. "Make a right down here, Mark, then a left."

Mark turned onto a dirt road, driving them through a wooded area. They passed a brick house on the right.

"Is that yours?", asked Mark, glancing over at it.

Jeff looked down, his eyes hooded. "That one's Matt's."

"Oh." Mark didn't know what to say.

They drove on in silence.

About five minutes later, they arrived at the entrance to what Jeff called "The Imagination". Huge paintings and sculptures adorned the land everywhere Mark looked. It was… very Jeff.

"This is impressive, kid", said Mark, gazing at a huge horse sculpture.

Jeff smiled shyly. "Thanks."

They came to a stop then, and got out.

"When did they finish your house?", asked Mark.

Jeff began walking towards the front door, and fishing for his keys. "They finished a few months ago. I'm still trying to get everything moved in. A lot of my stuff is still over at Matt's place." He sighed. "You see now why I need to resolve this. My entire life is intertwined with his. I live on the same land as him. Half of my wardrobe is still in his closet."

"I know, kid", replied Mark, "And I also know that you'll be able to work all of this shit out, with time. He's just angry, and jealous, and spiteful right now. He'll get over it. And when he does, he'll come to you, and he'll apologize."

Jeff smiled. "You think so?"

"Yup."

Jeff turned then, and opened the door.

A smell hit him that nearly knocked him onto his back. He peered into the shadows, trying to see what its source could be. His eyes widened as his gaze latched onto something in the front room, and he stumbled backwards, nearly knocking Mark over.

Something between a sob and a scream tore from his throat, and echoed throughout the empty house.

* * * * * * *

Matt sat on the hotel bed in the ever-deepening gloom of sunset. He didn't move to turn a lamp on. The darkness suited his mood.

He held tightly to a picture of him and Jeff, that had been taken when they were children. Before the fights, and the drugs, and the jealousy, and the anger had tainted their relationship.

Matt sighed, running a hand through his hair. He tore the picture up, and crumbled the pieces into tight little wads, until he couldn't see his and Jeff's beaming, innocent faces anymore.

His mouth drew into a cruel grimace, his eyes becoming frigid chips of ice. He wanted to hurt someone. He wanted to pound their face over and over into the wall until they bled.

He thought about the years he'd put into wrestling, slowly breaking down his body, show by show. And now, when it was all said and done, here he was, alone in a darkened hotel room.

"You're all I have left, Jeffy", he whispered, staring ahead expressionlessly, "It's just you and me, now."

He watched as the last remnants of sunlight left the sky.

Sighing, Matt finally gave in and turned on a lamp.

* * * * * * *

Jeff stood stock still, staring wide-eyed into the darkened front room of his new home.

"Jeff, it's okay", said Mark gently, knowing full well that sounded completely stupid. It damn well _wasn't_ okay. He could smell something terrible wafting out of the place, tickling his nostrils and the back of his throat. Sickeningly sweet. Chemicals mixed with something… altogether different.

Jeff let out a pitiful whimper, turning away from the door and closing his eyes.

Mark embraced him, letting him know that he was safe. "Go and wait in the car, kiddo. I'll check it out." He spoke softly, in as non-threatening a manner as possible.

Jeff looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes. "Mark-"

"It's okay, Jeff. I'll be alright. Go ahead." He gently guided his young friend towards the car. "I'll be out in a minute."

Jeff gave him a lingering pain-filled look, before turning and shuffling off towards the waiting vehicle.

Sighing heavily, Mark moved into the doorway. As he got closer, he was forced to put his sleeve over his mouth and nose, to cover the horrible smell emanating from the place.

He felt along the wall, and located a light switch, flipping it on.

He forced down his scream. He forced himself not to react outwardly at all.

Quickly, he shut the door, hoping to ensure that the young Hardy would not be able to see what had been done to his newly-built house.

A noose had been suspended from the ceiling light. It was swinging gently back and forth, as if by the power of some magical breeze. There was a dead dog hanging there, in a fairly advanced state of decomposition, to judge by the smell. It had, the Deadman guessed, at one time been a Jack Russell Terrier, but it was difficult to tell now. He fought down a rising wave of nausea as he realized that the small corpse had been skinned, from the neck down. A pool of now-dried blood had collected below the grisly thing, pooling on the floor.

"My god", whispered Mark, staring at it. In that moment, gazing at that horrible sight, the Deadman truly felt afraid for Jeff's welfare.

Mark forced himself to tear his eyes away from the dead dog. He would get rid of it before returning to the car, he told himself.

He looked around, immediately seeing that the place had been ripped apart in every sense of the word. Any personal items that Jeff had managed to save from the fire were now lying in heaps of trash on the floor. Black spray paint had been taken to the walls and furniture. Jeff's artwork, which hung frameless on some of the expansive, formerly white walls, had been painted over with the black paint, all ruined. Mark growled low in his throat when he saw that. He knew how seriously Jeff took his artwork, and how irreplaceable it was. Apparently, Matt knew as well.

His gaze traveled over the walls. Insults, curse words, every horrible thing Matt could've thought to say to his younger brother had been scrawled everywhere, in the black spray paint. He'd even written on the carpeted floor, and the furniture. Mark was beyond furious.

The Deadman sighed heavily, looking around with sad eyes. There was nothing salvageable here. At least not now.

He moved towards the dog, intent on bringing it down from the ceiling. His eyes widened when he heard the click of the front door opening.

Before he could stop him, before he could block his view of anything, Jeff opened the door, and stood there staring at his home, in ruins.

"Jeff-"

"Be quiet", the younger Hardy said softly, his voice eerily calm, "Just, don't talk right now."

Mark watched as the he entered his ruined home, running his hands over the spray-painted walls, the black-washed artwork. He watched as Jeff got on his knees and began sifting through a pile of broken things. Jeff stopped suddenly, seeming particularly interested in one piece. He picked up a mutilated frame that had been bent beyond repair, and gingerly began to pick the pieces of glass out of it. He stared at the image beyond the glass. He and Matt, smiling, arms around each other, beers in hand.

"It can't go on like this", Jeff whispered, "This has to be some type of fucked-up phase he's going through, that's going to play itself out. It has to be." Tears began to run down Jeff's face. He looked up at Mark, almost pleadingly. "I want my brother back."

The Deadman looked down at his friend, and nodded gently. "I know, kid."

He helped Jeff up, and guided him towards the door. The younger man refused to relinquish his grip on the picture of he and Matt. He hugged the broken frame close to his chest, feeling some tiny shards of glass push into his skin. He didn't care. He felt the pain was quite appropriate, given the people represented in the picture.

Jeff wiped at his face as he got into the car. He was so tired of crying. He was so tired of feeling weak.

He watched as Mark walked back into the house, and quickly disposed of the poor, dead dog, leaving it inside the treeline for any woodland predators to take.

The Deadman returned to the car then, getting in and strapping himself into the driver's seat.

For a moment, neither man could bring himself to speak.

"Why don't we get out of here, kid?", said Mark as he drove down the dirt path towards the main road, "You can call someone to clean up that mess in there. In the meantime, you can come and stay with me in Texas."

Jeff looked over at the big man, head cocked to the side, as if in thought. "You know, Deadman", he said slowly, "That sounds like the best damn idea I've heard all year."

Mark nodded once, smiling. He turned his attention to driving, trying to navigate these damn North Carolina back roads.

Once he figured out where he was going, his mind began to wander. He still had a little over three weeks before his return. Normally, he'd be going insane with boredom. Now, however, there was plenty to keep him occupied.

Mark shot a subtle glance over Jeff's way. The younger man was dozing against the window, still clutching tightly at the mangled picture frame he'd taken from his house. Shaking his head, Mark returned his eyes to the road.

Jeff couldn't see what a monster his brother had become. And, worse, he couldn't see how much danger he was truly in. Matt was devolving into a sociopathic criminal, a far cry from the kind-hearted, generous boy he'd been.

Three weeks. The Deadman's eyes narrowed in determination. If it were up to him, Matt would get a taste of his own medicine, and much, much more, by the end of that time.

Mark smiled his dark, evil, Undertaker smile, staring at the shadowy road ahead.

Matt Hardy had chosen his path.

Now, let him reap what he had sown.

* * * * * * *

Adam stared down at his cell phone, which had been ringing non-stop for the last twenty minutes. All of the calls were coming from the same person, a person who he had absolutely no desire to speak with.

"God damn him", Adam whispered furiously, as his ringtone began blaring again.

"He's nothing, if not persistent", remarked Jay dryly, who was sitting with his ex-partner and ex-friend on a park bench. He was, in a half-assed manner, feeding some pigeons with stale, moldy bread.

"GOD DAMMIT!", roared Adam, when his phone rang yet again. He began tearing at his hair in frustration.

"Why don't you just answer the fucking thing?", said Jay, rolling his eyes.

Adam glared. "Whatever", he mumbled angrily.

Opening his phone, he said coarsely, "Yeah?"

"I need to meet with you." It was Matt Hardy's cold, authoritative voice.

"I'm sorry", replied Adam, "This line is for WWE personnel only. You must have the wrong number."

"Bring up my firing again, and I will put you in the hospital", he said icily.

Adam swallowed nervously. He believed every threat Matt Hardy made these days, serious or not. Next to him, Jay continued to feed the birds, both ears glued to the one side of the conversation that he could hear.

"Now as I said", continued Matt, "I need to meet. My plans have changed, now that Vince fucking McMahon decided to terminate my contract."

"Wait just a fucking minute here", said Adam, "You are still going through with Operation Destroy Jeffro, even after you've been fired?!"

"_Especially_ after I've been fired! My little brother has ruined my life! He deserves to lose everything, just like I've lost everything!"

Adam could think of nothing to say to this. Matt was truly beginning to scare him with this shit. He'd agreed to partner with him in the beginning because he truly believed it would benefit his retention of the title.

But he had never wanted Jeff to suffer. He'd never wanted to see him broken. He'd just wanted him out of his way.

Breaking into Adam's turbulent thoughts, Matt growled, "Midnight. The Dusty Motel out on Chestnut St. You can't fucking miss it. I'll be in Room 235. Don't be late, or you'll fucking pay for it."

He hung up before the blonde superstar could reply.

Dropping the phone into his lap, Adam ran a hand across his face.

"Anything interesting?", Jay asked lightly, still feeding the birds.

"Nothing", Adam replied, staring numbly ahead, "Nothing at all."

* * * * * * *

**Well, crap. Adam's having some issues with good ol' Asshole Matt. And Poor Jeffro's having a nervous breakdown! So much to do, so little time.**

**Review! Review! Review! ;)**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Okay, so here we are again! After how many months have passed, I've finally been able to get back on track (kind of) with this story. I at least have an idea, but I guess we'll take it day by day, chapter by chapter, like always. So, submitted for your approval, is Papercuts, Chapter 10. Enjoy. **

**Now to the reviewers: Animal Luvr 4 Life, I'm glad you think Matty is a psycho and an asshole! It means I'm doing my job right. :) slashdlite, yeah, Adam had better watch his ass, as will be seen in this chapter; glad you're still with me! Onions, you had better have that looked at! Renna33, I felt bad writing the dead dog scene, but sometimes, you've gotta do what you've gotta do… Seraphalexial, dammit, I love your reviews; they make me smile every time! KissingRain102, much obliged! Sunligh584, yeah, I've made Matt a terrible prick in this story. I kind of feel bad, since the real guy seems so nice. Oh well, we're just doing it for shits and giggles, right? :) I believe in you, thanks for the compliment. Good reviews are a damn godsend when it comes to stories like this, which take months and months to write. Your kind words were much appreciated.**

**And now, on with things. As always, WWE owns all (except Jeff Hardy, who owns himself), and I own nothing.**

Adam watched Matt with apprehension as he moved towards the door. They had just concluded their meeting, and the Rated R Superstar was not happy with what he'd heard.

"Are you sure you wanna go through with this shit?", he asked, his tone pleading. Matt ignored him. He leaned down to open the doorknob and let his fellow schemer out.

"I mean", Adam continued, "maybe you should just lay off of Jeff for a little while. If you'd think a little more about this-" His air flow was cut off suddenly and violently by Matt's meaty hand wrapping around his throat.

"I don't want to hear anything else about changing my mind", Matt hissed furiously, increasing the strength of his hold, "The only thing I want to hear from you is that you're making progress on our plans."

He released Adam's throat, and the other man immediately backed away, fear written plainly upon his face.

"You're out of your fucking mind", Edge whispered.

Matt watched him with cold, predatory eyes. He made no reply.

Adam looked away from the older Hardy's frigid glare, subtly shifting himself towards the door.

"Get the fuck out of here", Matt growled.

Adam didn't need to be told twice.

When he'd left, Matt sat down heavily on the uncomfortable bed. He stared blankly at the dirty white wall, a million thoughts racing through his head.

Eventually, everyone turned their backs on him, in favor of Jeff. It would seem that Adam was doing the same. He could no longer trust the Canadian superstar.

It didn't matter. He'd destroy his brother on his own.

And when he'd finished with that, he'd take care of Adam.

* * * * * * *

Jeff stared forlornly out of the car window, watching nameless towns pass by, one after the other. Rain poured down in rivulets, obscuring the view, making the world gray and bleak.

"I don't want to go back", the young Hardy said quietly, his gaze never wavering from the rain-drenched window.

Mark's dark gaze shifted from the road to his young friend, and back to the road. "I know, kiddo", he said gently, "But you can't hide forever."

Jeff shot him a hurt look. "I'm not hiding. I just… don't feel like I'm ready to see him yet."

Mark nodded noncommittally. Jeff had been openly depressed for the last several days, ever since their departure for the WWE had become imminent. In Texas, in the time spent at Mark's ranch, the two of them had achieved a measure of much-needed peace. So much so, that Mark had decided to put off the revenge he'd been planning on Matt.

After all, there would always be time for that later.

Mark's worried gaze slid over to rest on the huddled form of his young friend. He vowed to himself that he would protect him. He vowed that he would find vengeance for him. As far as he was concerned, Matt was now living on borrowed time.

They drove on, making their way towards the airport.

Neither of them found much to say during the long, rain-swept ride.

* * * * * * *

Adam paced back and forth, his hands tearing at his abused and nappy hair. He stared, wild-eyed, at the floor.

"The guy is out of his fucking head", he said softly, "I mean, he's really gone over the edge."

Jay watched his ex-partner wear a hole in the carpet as he spoke about his harrowing experience in the hotel room. For the first time in a long time, Christian found that he was able to look past the despicable bastard Adam had become, and simply see him as a human being. He actually found himself feeling bad for him.

"Wanna hear my advice?", Jay asked quietly.

Adam stopped pacing and sat. He dropped his head into his hands.

Jay took this as a sign to continue. "You should stay away from Matt, Adam. I don't care what he expects you to do for him. I don't care what he's threatened you with. You should just avoid him, at all costs. He obviously has some serious issues he needs to work out. Until he does that, he's too dangerous to be around."

Adam snorted. "No shit, Sherlock."

Jay's brows drew down into a furrowed "v". "I'm not fucking around, Adam."

Edge shot to his feet, glaring. "Either am I! Do you really think I don't know that I should be avoiding Matt Hardy?! Jesus Christ…" He trailed off, falling into thought for a moment. "Look, there's not a god damn thing I can do. If I don't listen to him, he'll find me, and I'll end up in the hospital, or worse." His panicked eyes met Jay's stoic gaze.

Jay sighed. "I know you're scared, Adam", he said, "but what you have to realize is that no matter how threatened you may feel by Matt, Jeff is in far worse trouble than you. He needs as many people on his side as he can get right now."

Adam looked stunned. "You can't be serious. You want me to help _Jeff_?! No way! I can barely take care of myself right now!"

Jay stood quickly, a scowl twisting his features. "Matt's not after you! You're less than nothing to him. Just a god damn pawn. Look, Adam, I'd rather be working with you than against you. I'm sure that, deep down, you feel the same way."

Adam stared at Jay for a long, uncomfortable moment. "I have to go", he said finally, his voice quiet and unsure. He shouldered his way past his ex-partner, moving towards the door.

"Adam-"

"Leave me alone!", he cried, increasing his gait. Adam left, slamming the door behind him.

Jay watched his departure in silence.

He hoped that the Undertaker would be returning soon with Jeff. They needed to have a long and important discussion.

* * * * * * *

It was after one o'clock in the morning, and Jeff and Taker were just now pulling into the parking lot of the finest Days Inn this side of town.

"Fuck, I'm tired", groaned Jeff, his voice thick with sleep.

"Another couple of minutes, kid, and you'll be in bed", Taker assured him. He turned off the ignition, and stepped out, cracking his back. "Why don't you grab the bags, Jeff? I'll go and check in."

Jeff could only nod through his jaw-cracking yawn. He watched the Deadman stalk into the brightly lit office of the small, well-appointed hotel. Turning back to the car, he began to stack their suitcases on the sidewalk next to their parking space. Finishing his task, he slammed the back door and bent to lock it.

A hand covered his mouth roughly, stifling his cry of surprise. He twisted, but a strong, heavy arm fell across his arms and chest, pulling him tightly back against his attacker's torso. He struggled desperately to get out of the person's deathgrip, praying that Mark would hurry up and return.

All it took was a whisper to bring him to a complete standstill.

"I thought you wanted to talk, Jeffy." Matt breathed his cold words into the shell of Jeff's ear.

The younger Hardy began to fight, trying in earnest to break free. Matt wasn't having it.

"You wanted to talk, Jeffy" Matt said, pulling his younger brother away from the parking lot and towards the shadows of a yawning alley, "So let's talk."

Jeff kicked back at him, but missed completely. Matt yanked on his long hair in punishment, retaining a painfully tight grip as he urged him forward.

The Hardys disappeared into the black alleyway.

Three minutes later, Taker returned, to see where Jeff had gotten to. All he found was a pile of discarded luggage on the sidewalk, and a dark, forgotten car.

**Oh Christ, just what has Matt done now?! It's funny, the direction a story can take when it's late and you're tired. Honest to God, I never meant for that to happen! So, I know this was far too short, and I left things on a ridiculous cliffhanger. I WILL NOT drop this story for months, as I did before. I should have a new part up, time allowing, within the next two weeks (fingers crossed). **

**So, what will Edge decide? How will Taker react to finding Jeffy missing? And what is Matt going to do to our beleaguered hero?!!! (Yeah, I used beleaguered in a sentence; sue me.) Find out the answer to all of these questions next time!! Anybody else miss Jeff on Smackdown? Just sayin'.**

**Oh, and Review, Please!! ;) **


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Well, the last chapter was a bit… odd, I have to say. It shot off into a completely different direction than I'd intended. Crazy stuff. Hopefully, things will get back on track this time around. Jeff and Matt will talk. Taker will see red. Adam will cower. Jay will be smart and stoic. Far as I figure it, that about sums up where things need to go from here.**

**Now, to respond to some very kind reviews I received. Slashdlite, Jeff's in good hands with Mark; don't worry! ;) Esha Napoleon, I laughed my a** off when I read your review; you and Grandma Napoleon are so rad! :) Seraphalexiel, nah, I'd never abandon this damn story. I wanna see how this ridiculous mess turns out in the end. :) To answer your question, yes, Matt is indeed a ninja. LOL at the dog thing… Crystalgurl101, sorry for the cliffhanger! I know, I'm evil… :)**

**Well, without further ado, here it is. As always, WWE owns all (except Jeff, who owns himself), I own nothing. **

Taker stood in the alley, staring off into the darkness. His head was tilted slightly to the side as he listened for any signs of Jeff. He sighed in frustration. The nearby city was putting out an array of background noise, the distant sounds of the highway mixing with blaring radios and car horns. It was driving Mark to distraction.

He had no idea if he was following the correct path, or if he'd been uselessly meandering in the dark for the past forty minutes.

There was nothing to lead him in the right direction.

"Shit", he cursed under his breath.

He pulled out the flashlight he'd taken from the rental, and began to steadily and methodically make his way forward. His sharp eyes were peeled for any clues as to his young friend's whereabouts. His ears were perked.

Moving as silently as possible, he walked forward into the shadows. He stalked aimlessly, searching, searching. He walked until the hotel, its parking lot, and the yawning mouth of the alley all faded into the dim landscape behind him.

* * * * * * *

Jeff was scared out of his fucking mind.

Matt had not relinquished his grip even slightly since they left the parking lot, and Jeff found that he was far too frightened to fight back. He allowed himself to be roughly guided along, falling ever limper in his brother's painfully tight grasp.

The younger Hardy could not stifle a gasp when he was pulled backwards, suddenly and violently, into his brother's chest. Matt threw an arm over Jeff's chest, holding him still. They stood there, unmoving, engulfed in darkness.

Matt, who perceived his brother's extreme unease, let out a sinister chuckle. Jeff instinctually tried to move away, repulsion overtaking him.

"What's wrong, little brother?", Matt laughed, increasing the strength of his hold and eliciting a small whimper from his captive, "Are you scared of me?"

Jeff did not reply. Every muscle was a caricature of rigid and immovable fear.

Matt smirked, moving his face in close to his brother's ear. Jeff let out a frightened moan, and tried to pull away from the older Hardy's grinning visage.

Matt leaned down and spoke in a gentle tone, one that did not belie his words. "Stop struggling, Jeffy, or I'll cut your throat and watch while you choke on your own blood."

A fat tear rolled slowly down Jeff's cheek. He began to hyperventilate as his fear escalated, but he stopped struggling.

Matt smiled, his eyes narrowing as he turned Jeff to face him. He studied his terrified brother closely. He reached out and gently took hold of Jeff's long locks, running his fingers through the tangled, multi-hued hair. He wiped the tear off of his brother's quivering cheek.

Matt let both his hands drop to his sides. Jeff, too petrified to move, just stood there, staring up at him. The older Hardy let out a heavy sigh, and smiled sadly as he regarded him. "You shouldn't force me to treat you this way, Jeffy. Bad things could happen."

Jeff flinched as Matt reached out and grabbed tight hold of his chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. The older Hardy sneered as Jeff's green eyes widened in fear. "You are truly pathetic, little brother."

Jeff was rapidly tiring of his brother's cruel behavior. He felt anger suddenly overwhelm the paralyzing fear he'd felt ever since he'd been dragged away from the hotel.

"Go to hell", Jeff hissed, glaring. Matt reared back suddenly, and slapped Jeff with enough force to send him reeling.

"Fuck", Jeff panted, struggling voraciously in Matt's grip, "Let me go, you psycho! Get away from me!"

Matt hit Jeff again. Blood now trickled freely down the younger Hardy's chin, dripping into a small red pool on the ground beneath their feet.

"Please, stop it", Jeff sobbed, "Jesus Christ, Matty-"

Matt grabbed Jeff's arm, holding it in a painful vice-grip. He dragged him along, pulling him at a wickedly fast pace through the blackened alley. Jeff stumbled after his enraged brother, head spinning, unable to free himself.

"Please don't do this, Matty", he pleaded, "If you want me to leave the WWE, I'll leave! Please just let me go-"

Matt shook his head, never slowing his pace. "It doesn't matter anymore, Jeff. I couldn't care less whether you wrestle or not."

Jeff looked confused. "Then why are you doing this?"

Matt no longer appeared interested in speaking with him, however. He increased their pace even more.

"Please, Taker, hurry", Jeff pleaded silently, "I don't have much time left…"

* * * * * * *

Jay cursed loudly. Who the _fuck_ had been banging on his door for the last five minutes? It was three o'clock in the morning, for christ's sake! Groaning, he threw the warm bedclothes off. He would kill whoever had dared to disturb his sleep.

He unlocked the door, then threw it violently open. Without even looking to see who it was, he yelled, "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT???!!!!!"

Adam stood there, hand raised in mid-knock, eyes wide and alarmed.

"Fucking forget it", he said quietly, after a moment, "I shouldn't have come here."

Without another word, he turned on his heel and began to walk briskly down the hall, towards the bank of elevators.

"Adam!", called Jay, stepping out of his room with a hand set firmly on his hip, "Get your dumb ass back here."

Adam pondered for a moment.

"Now!", ordered Jay, "Before I change my mind!"

It was all the Rated R Superstar needed to hear.

"Thanks", he muttered, before entering his ex-partner's room.

Jay rolled his eyes. He had a feeling he wasn't getting any sleep tonight.

* * * * * * *

Jeff kept thinking that he had to be dreaming. None of this could possibly be real, because his own brother would never drag him to a deserted warehouse in the middle of nowhere and tie him to a chair. Matt would never threaten his life. Matt would never treat him this way.

As the younger Hardy sat, lashed to an uncomfortable high-backed wooden chair, he stared hard at the filthy floor of the nameless warehouse in an effort to avoid Matt's gaze. The darker Hardy stood over his captive, staring down at him with hard eyes.

"If you're gonna kill me, why don't you get it the fuck over with?", Jeff said quietly, anger lacing his tone.

Matt smiled. "Oh, Jeffy", he said, "I have so much more in mind first."

Jeff scowled, and returned his gaze to the floor.

Matt watched him, and continued to grin.

* * * * * * *

Mark ran his flashlight over the high walls surrounding the alleyway, bringing it back down to the filthy concrete ground. He was getting frustrated. He'd been searching now for two straight hours, and he still had no idea if he was even going in the right direction. He told himself he was a god damn fool. He should've gone to the police hours ago. It was his own desire to tear Matt Hardy's head clean off of his body that had made him charge blindly into a dark alleyway. But he hadn't found shit, and he couldn't get Jeff out of his head. What was happening to him right now? The thought of what Matt Hardy could be doing to his young friend at that moment made him want to hurt, destroy, kill.

Sighing heavily, he ran his light in a pass across the alley again. He froze, coming to a standstill.

Mark bent down over a tiny pool of fresh blood, that continued forward in a trail

of tiny droplets. Like Hansel following the trail of bread crumbs home, Mark carefully walked beside the intermittent drops of blood. He had no idea if these belonged to Jeff, but he had a hunch. He figured that was something.

Mark told himself that if he hadn't found Jeff by daybreak, he'd call the police. He couldn't keep this cavalier crap up forever.

The Deadman frowned as his thoughts turned to darker things. Matt should pray that he stay hidden forever. Because if _he_ should find him, there would be hell to pay.

And, Mark realized, he'd enjoy every damn minute of it.

**Jeff's in trouble (isn't he always?), Matt's being an asshole, Adam's being a wuss, Jay's being Jay, Deadman's being badass, and Jericho's nowhere in this story (which is sad but true). I've been checking out Jericho's tweets lately, and god dammit are they entertaining! Just a side note. Anyway, I hope to keep the updates coming, so please please please keep the reviews coming! They are my crack.**

**Thanks for reading guys! ;)**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Well, here it is. Another update. I just couldn't leave Jeffro hanging like that! So, I'll respond to some reviews, and we'll get this show on the road. ;)**

**To Grandma Napoleon, I know, Matt's not the brightest star in the sky, nor the sharpest tool in the shed; basically, there's one rule that you should never break in the WWE, and that is DO NOT SCREW WITH THE UNDERTAKER! To Esha, I would say he's about 4, 4 and a half feet down by now. Not much longer… ;) I believe in you, thank you for your excellent and well-thought out review. I'm glad you liked that particular part in the chapter; it was one of my favorites too. An intimate moment between the brothers that turned into Matt being a crazy person again was too tempting to pass up. As for your request to keep Matty alive, keep reading… ;) slashdlite, all of your queries will be answered in this very chapter! Thanks for sticking around. :) Crystalgurl101, you don't have to worry about Jeff; he's got balls of steel. He'll be ok. :) Seraphalexiel, I think dog ears would compliment Adam's blonde hair nicely. Don't be giving me ideas with the ninja star thing, because I have a sick and twisted mind, and you never know what'll turn up in my stories. ;) Onions, god dammit, don't you have a court order forbidding you from ever reviewing any of BreakingFable's stories, put forth by the aforementioned BreakingFable? Ah, fuck it. I'll answer your review. Yeah, Matt's a turd. And yes, he DEFINITELY has a pig-pooch. That bastard is the fattest he's ever been, in this story. That's what you get for messing with Jeff… ;)**

**Thank you to all who reviewed, to all who lurk in the shadows and don't review but who stick around to read this thing anyway, to all who put this on their favorites and their alerts and their iPods and their Wiis and their Kindles. (just kidding about that last part.)**

**As always, WWE owns all (except Jeff Hardy, who owns himself), I own nothing. **

"So, you've decided to take my advice, for once", Jay said, trying desperately to hide the smug undertones in his deceptively benign voice.

Adam shot a dark look in his direction. "Fuck off, Jay", he replied, "I'm not here to listen to your shit!" He dropped his head into his hands, letting out an audible exhalation of air. After a moment, he met Jay's gaze, his eyes wide and pleading. "I couldn't think of anywhere else to go. I don't know if Matt's following me, and I don't want to be by myself."

Jay stared at the man sitting across from him. Once so cocky and arrogant, Adam was now a shadow of the person he'd been. Matt had destroyed Edge, and replaced him with this whining, quivering, weak-willed shell of a man.

Despite everything that had gone down between him and Adam, Jay swore that Hardy would pay for that.

Suddenly Jay spoke, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen over the close room. "Tell me everything", he said gently, more gently than Adam would have expected from his ex-partner, "I want to know everything that's been going on between you two. What has he been telling you to do?"

Adam grimaced, and averted his gaze.

Jay felt hot anger rising up inside of him when Adam refused to answer, a sudden and destructive thing. He remembered Jeff, that night in the bar, nearly drinking himself to death because he thought his brother's behavior was his own fault. He remembered him, lying beaten and unconscious on the hospital bed.

"Look at me, Adam", Jay said softly. His tone brooked no argument.

Adam slowly raised his head, his tired, bloodshot eyes meeting Jay's intense gaze.

"You're going to tell me everything. You have to. Do you know why?"

Adam slowly shook his head, his eyes still locked with Jay's.

"Because, Matt is going to hurt his little brother. You know what his plans are, where he'll be going, what he intends to do next. That information could be invaluable in stopping another attack on Jeff."

Adam shot to his feet, a furious glare upon his pale face. "Jeff! _Jeff_?! Jesus Christ, Jay, what about me? Matt's going to do bad things to me if I'm not carrying out his orders to the letter. And… I don't think I can do that anymore. That psycho's gonna…oh jesus christ….!" He pulled at his hair in terror and frustration.

Jay reared back and slapped Adam in the face. "Fucking calm down!", he yelled, "You're hyperventilating, for christ's sake!"

Adam stared straight ahead, a shocked look on his face. "I… I.. have to go", he whispered, moving towards the door.

Jay grabbed Adam and threw him down on the bed with force. "You're not going anywhere, asshole!", he said angrily, "Now, start talking, Adam. If you need to justify spilling the beans, think of it this way; knowing about Matt's plans will help you, as well as Jeff. I can promise you that."

Adam cocked his head, looking at his fellow wrestler strangely. He obviously had no idea what the hell Jay was talking about.

"C'mon, Edge", Jay said, rising and moving towards the door, "We're going to the cops."

* * * * * * *

It had been silent in the warehouse for what seemed like a long time. Matt had left Jeff to sit and wonder when the games would stop, and the real pain would begin. The moment his brother disappeared into the distant shadows of the dimly-lit building, Jeff began to desperately feel at the ropes binding his wrists, tugging as hard as he could, pulling and twisting to the limits of his rapidly-waning strength. The rough fastenings refused to yield in any way, however. After a while, he began to feel blood wetting his abused and chafed skin.

He closed his eyes tightly, praying that when next he opened them, Mark would be standing over the unconscious form of his insane brother. He only had to hold out until Mark could track them down-

He froze when Matt's disembodied voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from somewhere near the opposite end. "There's no need to try and escape, Jeffy", he said, amusement clear in his tone, "Even if you manage to get out of those ropes, I promise you, you're not getting out of this building."

Jeff began to struggle wildly, tears running down his face. "Fuck you! God dammit, let me go!!"

In the shadows, Matt smiled at the younger man's tantrum. He was coming unglued so easily.

Matt began to make his way towards his distressed brother, moving with steady, audible footsteps. The older Hardy watched the younger with an unfaltering gaze. Jeff's wide, frightened green eyes blindly roamed the shadows as he waited for Matt to appear.

It appeared that he had given up the struggle, for the moment.

Matt smiled. Excellent.

He came to a stop in front of Jeff, causing the bound man to draw back slightly in fear. Matt smirked when he noticed this reaction. Jeff frowned, and drew himself up, though his brother had already turned away from him.

Matt picked up an old folding chair, the only other furnishing in the entire warehouse, and began to slowly drag it across the cold concrete floor. It made a horrible, high-pitched screeching noise, like metal being pulled across a chalkboard. Matt suddenly brought it up short, its painful echoing screech causing Jeff to gasp. The older Hardy turned it around so that its back faced his prisoner. Jeff watched Matt's every move with a wary, frightened gaze. He straddled the chair, and casually rested his chin in his palm. The older Hardy's cold eyes appraised every inch of his brother. Jeff glared back in open disgust.

"Maybe you can explain something for me, Jeffy, because I just don't understand it." Jeff's gaze didn't falter. He narrowed his eyes in confusion. What the hell was he getting at now? "No matter how many times I run this little equation through my brain, it doesn't fucking compute." Jeff shifted in his uncomfortable chair, pulling unconsciously at his bindings.

"Everyone loves you, though I cannot for the life of me understand why. The fans, the guys in the locker room, the assholes in creative, the god damn McMahons, even our own father, they all fucking worship the ground you walk on. Why, Jeffrey? You are a consummate fuck-up. Every time they hand their trust over to you, you destroy it. And yet, you can do no wrong in their eyes. Why, Jeff? What's your secret? Why don't you give me some fucking insight?!"

Jeff stared at his brother, his gaze frigid. "You're pathetic."

Matt let out a guttural cry of pure fury. He jumped up, his teeth bared, his fists balled up tightly. He reared back and struck his brother's face, bringing his fists down over and over again. Jeff tried to move away, but the ropes prevented him. The onslaught was such that he could barely even find the strength to cry out in pain.

Finally, Matt exhausted himself, and collapsed back down onto the folding chair. Jeff, blood dripping freely from his mouth and nose, the skin on his face already beginning to swell, found that he could barely raise his head after the severe beating.

"Please", Jeff panted, his voice hoarse and barely raised above a whisper, "Please, Matt, let me go."

Matt didn't reply. He stared at Jeff with narrowed eyes for a long, silent, uncomfortable moment. Then, he rose and began to walk away, all the while wiping his brother's blood off of his knuckles and onto his once-clean jeans.

* * * * * * *

"God dammit, Jeff", Taker muttered darkly, "you had better not be dead, kid."

The Deadman had been following a line of small, rapidly-drying blood specks. He could only pray they would bring him to Jeff, and his piece of shit brother. God, he owed that asshole so much pain.

Glaring, he forged ahead.

He tried really, really hard not to think about what might be happening to Jeff at this moment.

* * * * * * *

Jeff awoke, in pain, stiff, sore, and, he realized to his dismay, in a different position than he'd fallen asleep. He hung from steel manacles, which in turn were connected to a long chain hanging from the ceiling. He vaguely wondered, as he looked around through the bruised and swollen skin of his nearly-shut eyes, how long it had taken Matt to set all of this up.

"Awake?"

The cold sound of his brother's voice, echoing through the empty room, made him jump. He had no peripheral vision, thanks to the beating Matt had seen fit to dole out, so Jeff had no idea where his brother currently was in the room. It was disconcerting.

"So, you pulled out the chains", Jeff said, forcing his voice to remain steady, "Heavy-duty stuff, Matty. That's moving it up a notch, man. Ropes and chairs, that's one thing. But when you're chaining your brother up in a fucking warehouse, with unknown intentions, well, that sounds like _psycho_ shit to me, Matty." Jeff raised his head a bit, and dropped his voice, as if to make his point entirely clear. "I'm pretty sure you've lost you're fucking mind."

Jeff heard the footsteps come up behind him. It was obviously Matt, but, strangely, the rhythm, slow and dragging, was nothing like the cadence of his brother's normal, energetic walk. It was as if every aspect of Matt had been torn asunder, and replaced with this cruel, vindictive bastard.

Matt stopped several steps behind his bound brother, a wide smile on his harsh features.

"Remember when we were kids, Jeffy?", Matt asked, "And daddy used to yell at us for playing with grampy's old whip? You remember, it was the one grampy used to get rid of the snakes hiding out in tall grass?"

Jeff didn't answer, though he knew what Matt referred to.

Matt laughed at the happy memory. "We used to take turns runnin' around the fields, like we were Indiana Jones, or something."

Jeff wished Matt wouldn't talk about their childhood now. It felt blasphemous, as if he were sullying something that had previously been pure and untainted.

Matt's smile turned dark. He brandished a heavy, braided leather whip, letting the end fall to the floor. It smacked the concrete and rebounded, before laying still at Matt's feet, like a great dead serpent.

Jeff, whose back was still to his brother, flinched at the noise.

"What is that?!", he asked, trying to look over his shoulder.

Matt's smile didn't falter. If anything, it only grew wider.

"Memories, Jeffy", he said softly, bringing the whip up, "I'm making new ones. Now hold still."

The whip came down.

**OUCH!!!! God dammit, hurry the hell up, Mark! What, are you following the world's longest blood trail, or are you just stopping for a smoke every five minutes? Boy, Matt's a tool in this, isn't he? But, as you can see, his little web is beginning to unwind around him. We'll see what happens next time!**

**REVIEW!!!!!!! (please. and thank you.) **

**Happy Halloween, Everybody! ;)**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Jeff's in major trouble, folks. Matt decided to pull out the whip. (sigh) Sometimes, Asshole Matt can be a real dickhead. :)**

**As always, thank you to all who reviewed! To Grandma Napoleon: Adam's starting to come around, but keep reading to see what he'll decide. He **_**could**_** chicken out and run away, Edge-style! :) Esha, don't worry about Taker, the longer he wanders around searching the more pissed he's getting. Matt is toast when he finally catches up to them! Renna33, I know, I'm evil, and I'm sorry for it. Taker'll be there soon to save the day, I promise. I just had to write in a scene or two of good, ol' fashion Jeff torture. I couldn't help myself. :P slashdlite, there's going to be one hell of a confrontation between Taker and Matt, and it's coming really soon. What'll happen??? Read on! :) Seraphalexiel, whose reviews I adore, yeah, Adam doesn't know what the hell he's doing right now, or what side he's on. Jay'll fix him up, don't you worry about that. For Matt v. Taker, ya gotta read on… Crystalgurl101, sorry about the Jeffy torture and the suspense. Read on to find out what happens! Yvanna Irie, your review made my whole damn month. I'm totally serious. I'm unworthy of your kind words. :) Welcome to the WWE fandom! I'm sure it'll treat you well. ;) (I overuse emoticons, I know.)**

**As always, the WWE has province over all (except Jeff Hardy, who is currently no longer wrestling for them, as we all sadly know). I own not a thing.**

The Undertaker lurked in the oppressive shadow of a very large warehouse, watching, waiting. He glared intently at the darkened structure, his eyes narrowed in tension and anger. The building was silent, as any abandoned building should be, and if there was anyone in there, he certainly couldn't tell from where he was standing.

He sighed heavily. The spotty blood trail he'd been following seemed to come to an end here, on the edge of this property. When it came down to it, however, he had no idea in the world if this was actually the right place. The rational side of him kept screaming that he was fucking insane not to have gone to the cops by now.

Taker's fists curled into tight little balls as he fought with himself, knowing that he couldn't go to the police just yet. He knew that he and Matt Hardy had unfinished business, as cliché as it sounded. He intended to do very, very bad things to Matt when he got his hands on him. He had to instill the fear of god into him, make him realize that coming after Jeff again would be an extremely bad decision on his part.

Solidifying his resolve, Mark quickly and quietly began to make his way towards the rusty, chain link fence that surrounded the property. He turned off his flashlight and stashed it in his jacket pocket, deciding to go by the light of the moon. He didn't want to alert Matt to his presence, just in case he was watching. The decaying metal of the fence shook in the strong winds coming off of the nearby harbor.

As Taker silently made his way towards the rust-covered barrier, he began to realize that this warehouse would have been the perfect spot for Hardy to lay low. Had Matt been forcing Jeff along, or carrying him if he was unconscious, he'd have been tiring by now. He'd have been searching for a place to hide. Coming across a deserted warehouse would've seemed like a gift from God.

A ship whistle, muffled and very distant, cut the night air suddenly. Mark pulled his jacket closed, zipping it up tight in an effort to fight off the chill wind that had sprung up around the docks and outlying harbor.

He easily scaled the filthy fence, making far more noise than he would have liked. Quickly, cautiously, he began to make his way across the courtyard and towards the giant, dark, and seemingly empty building.

"Hang on, kid. I'm coming", he whispered.

* * * * * * *

Matt sat cross-legged on the floor, half-heartedly stroking the length of his whip. His attention was fixed squarely on Jeff, who had, at some point, passed out. His younger brother hung limply from his wrists, and he was swinging slightly back and forth like a leaf in the wind. His expressive brows were furrowed, distress showing clearly on his face despite the fact that he was still unconscious.

Matt continued to caress the whip, enjoying its smooth texture. His fingers ran across something wet and sticky. He tightened his grip, never removing his eyes from his brother's form.

Jeff had tried to fight him, even when it was obvious that he'd lost. All he had wanted was a scream. Just one. It wasn't so much to ask for, in Matt's opinion.

But Jeff just had to antagonize him. He'd had to act like the irritating little shit he'd always been. Instead of obliging Matt's simple request, Jeff had nearly bitten his tongue off in an effort to stifle his cries of pain. Matt scowled. Jeff had always been so worthless. Such a stubborn little shit.

The older Hardy smiled suddenly, stroking the blood-covered whip, his cold eyes locked on his sleeping brother. It didn't matter. Nothing that Jeff did mattered at all anymore. He'd already won.

It had taken patience, but in the end, he had screamed, over and over again, begging him to stop. Whatever that little fuck did to fight him, he would always fail in the end. And finally, perhaps, they would all see him for the worthless piece of trash that he actually was.

Jeff suddenly let out a smallish whimper, followed by a groan of pain. His hands curled into fists, and he twisted slightly in the chains. His eyes, partly swollen shut from the beating he'd sustained earlier in the evening, slid open slowly.

Matt watched all of this patiently, as still and noiseless as a venomous snake right before it strikes.

Jeff let out a pitiful whimper as full consciousness came flooding back. His body felt like one huge, gaping wound, throbbing and pulsing with constant agony. "Oh…… god…….", he groaned lowly, unable to stop himself.

Matt smiled, unable to help himself.

"Did I hit you a little too hard, Jeffro?", the older Hardy asked, "Sorry about that. You know me, though; I have a tendency to get a little carried away with things sometimes."

"Fuck you", Jeff spat, fat tears running down his bruised and swollen cheeks.

Matt's smile never left his face. It was gentle and bemused, the smile of an older brother gazing with approbation at his younger sibling.

Jeff looked away, disturbed by Matt's benevolent façade.

Matt reached into his pocket and began to fish around for something. "I've really enjoyed our little game, Jeff. But I think we both know it's played itself out, at this point." The older Hardy pulled a small key out of his pocket. He regarded it thoughtfully. "I suppose I've accomplished what I set out to accomplish. For the moment, anyway." Matt's eyes never left the object in his grip. As he spoke, he began to roll it absentmindedly between his thumb and forefinger. "I guess I could let you go. After all, killing you is out of the question. I won't risk going to jail for murdering a worthless junkie piece of trash."

Jeff felt his anger rise like a cancer in his body, choking him, blacking out his reason. "I hate you", he hissed, every word torn from his gut.

Matt smiled that conciliatory smile once again. It was maddening. "Then we're finally in agreement about something, Jeffro."

* * * * * * *

The Undertaker moved as quietly as he could, all the while feeling like an incredible lummox and the least graceful person on the planet. He knew he was huffing and panting loudly, but he couldn't help himself. He'd climbed twenty flights of stairs, stopping on each floor to look for Jeff. Nothing yet. His bad knee was beginning to twinge something awful, so he was practically dragging his bad leg along, forcing it to cooperate. At this point, he figured, if Matt didn't hear him coming, he was deaf.

"Fuck it", he muttered, "Direct approach is always better than sneaking in anyway."

He was coming up on the top floor. If Matt and Jeff weren't here, they weren't in the building.

Taker stopped at the door, putting an ear to it to see if he could hear anything. Silence. The big man's heart went into his throat. Pushing his anxieties firmly away, the Deadman entered the cold and lightless room.

"Hardy!", he cried, "Where the fuck are you, you piece of shit?!"

He pulled out his flashlight, letting the beam break the enveloping darkness. He ran it across the room once, twice, three times.

His heart sank. The room was empty.

This was the wrong place. Jeff had never been here at all.

* * * * * * *

Matt walked around behind Jeff, causing the younger man to tense uncomfortably.

"I'm letting you go." The cold voice suddenly sounded in Jeff's ear, causing the younger man to jump.

The younger Hardy said nothing as he felt his brother began to fiddle with one of the manacles, though he couldn't help but feel relieved. Perhaps he would live through this, after all.

As Matt began working on the second cuff, he said, "I'm sure you're wondering why I'm doing this." Jeff said nothing, only kept his glare locked firmly on the concrete floor of the warehouse. Matt leaned in, his dark eyes blazing. "I can't enjoy breaking you if you're already broken, can I? You've had enough for tonight. It's a shame, too. I was just getting started." He grinned. Jeff's eyes narrowed. "I'll let you heal up, though." Matt suddenly grabbed a hold of his brother's hair, yanking it painfully, pulling his head up so that he'd be forced to look him in the eye. "All the while you'll know full well that I am the sole reason that you are free. And", he smiled, "you'll know that I could come back at any time to finish the job."

"You are a bastard."

Matt just smirked, pulling the second manacle off of his brother's wrist. The moment he was free, Jeff tried to attack, swinging wildly at Matt's face. The older Hardy easily blocked every blow, however, as Jeff was very badly beaten, and could barely stand on his own, let alone throw a punch.

Matt kicked Jeff in the stomach suddenly, bringing the Enigma to his knees, coughing and choking. Matt regarded his brother with anger, and a fair amount of disgust. The younger Hardy was doubled over in pain, holding his abdomen protectively, trying desperately to take in precious air. This pathetic creature crawling on the floor was their golden child, their chosen one. It was disgusting.

"Get up", Matt said in a low, dangerous voice.

Jeff looked up at him, his eyes wide with fear. After a long, tense moment, he began to slowly get to his feet. He stood shakily, watching his brother with wary eyes, his hands crossed over his bruised stomach.

Without a word, Matt swept forward and grabbed a hold of his brother's slender throat. He pushed him backwards several feet, stumbling and nearly falling a number of times, until his back finally hit the cold, hard wall of the warehouse. Jeff struggled as best he could, his nails digging into Matt's large, muscled hands, trying desperately to pry them off of his airway.

Jeff's struggles increased when he tried to take a breath, and found himself completely unable to do so.

Matt's eyes were cold, and utterly emotionless as he watched his brother slowly choking to death at his own hands. He had lost everything because of the man before him. The thought still enraged Matt, still made him want to destroy Jeff utterly.

Jeff was beginning to black out. He mouthed the words "Please, Matty!" as his hands fell limply to his sides. The younger Hardy felt himself slipping away with each passing moment. Weak and broken, he faded like a plant deprived of sun and water, unable even to muster the strength to be angry that he was dying at his own brother's hands.

Matt suddenly blinked several times, as if waking from a deep trance. He looked down. Jeff was nearly unconscious in his hold. He immediately released his grip, causing the younger man to fall like a heavy sack to the ground. After a moment, Jeff rolled over and grabbed at his throat, coughing.

Matt watched him with dark eyes, unmoving.

After a moment, Jeff sat up, leaning heavily against the wall. He looked like a worn dishrag, dirty, wrung-out, and used up.

"Get out of here", Matt said coldly.

Jeff had not been expecting to hear that. His head snapped up, tired green eyes suddenly alert. "You're really just gonna let me walk out of here?" He stared at Matt, naked suspicion evident in his eyes.

"I suggest you do it, Jeff", Matt replied, "The next time my hands end up on your throat, I may not be able to stop myself."

Jeff rose without a word, and, avoiding Matt, walked towards the exit of the cavernous warehouse. He could feel his brother's eyes on him as he limped through the door, and out into the cool night.

As quickly as he could, he moved through back alleyways of the city, trying desperately to quell the impulse to turn around and see if Matt was following him.

He needed to get out of here.

He needed to find a safe place.

* * * * * * *

Lieutenant Davies, a portly, middle-aged police officer working out of the 49th precinct, sat behind his paper-cluttered desk with a pen and notepad in hand. He'd given up on taking notes on this case a half hour ago, however. He stared incredulously at the two men sitting across from him. They were looking at him expectantly.

"So what you're trying to tell me is that Matt Hardy, a wrestler you work with, has gone insane, and is trying to kill his younger brother Jeff Hardy, another wrestler you work with. Also, he has tried to blackmail Vince McMahon, the president of the WWE. You're here-", Davies pointed at the blonde man sitting on his right, "because he, Matt Hardy that is, enlisted you to help him with this little scheme of his, and now that you realize it's gone sour, you want out. Do I have all that about right?"

Adam pulled at his hair. "Well, everything but the 'enlisting' part. You have to understand, buddy, this all started out as a way for me to get my championship belt back. That's all. No attacking Jeff, or hurting Jeff. Just simple mind games. Harmless. People do it all the time in our business. But Matt had other things in mind that I didn't know about."

"We'll worry about all of that later", Davies replied stoically, "Right now, I'm more concerned about finding Jeff Hardy and getting him into protective custody. Until we can get the warrants and proper paperwork needed for an investigation, we won't be able to lock Matt up. So, first priority is finding the victim, and protecting him. Do you know where he'd be? Any spots he haunts regularly?"

Adam and Jay looked at each other and shrugged helplessly.

"He's supposed to be at the hotel, but I haven't seen him", said Jay.

Suddenly, a commotion from the lobby interrupted them. There were several raised voices, arguing about something.

"What's going on out there?", asked Adam, brows furrowed in confusion.

"Would you excuse me for a moment?", Lieutenant Davies, "I'll be right back."

He rose and made his way out of the room, followed a few steps behind by a curious Edge and Christian.

"Sir, you need medical attention!"

"I'm fine! I just need a place to hide for the night! Please, just let me stay in one of your cells! I can pay, and I won't be any trouble!"

"What is going on here?" Davies' authoritative voice cut through the room, silencing everyone.

"JEFF?!!!!!", Edge and Christian exclaimed, their eyes wide with surprise and concern for their friend's condition.

Jeff stood leaning heavily against the precinct's reception desk, as if his legs could no longer bear his own weight. His face was bruised and swollen, and there was a dark, hand-shaped discoloration forming on his pale neck.

"Jesus Christ, man, what happened to you?", whispered Jay, his eyes wide.

Jeff's eyes met Jay's, his expression haunted. "He let me go, but he'll come back for me. He said so. I need to have a safe place to hide from him."

"This is Jeff Hardy?", asked Lieutenant Davies, his expression grim.

Jay nodded in confirmation. Jeff stared down at his hands on the desk, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was being spoken of.

Adam moved forward slowly, so as not to startle their obviously traumatized friend. "Jeffro?", he said gently.

"Don't call me that anymore", Jeff whispered, "Matt always called me that."

Adam shared a look of concern with Jay. "Okay, Jeff, no problem. Listen, buddy, you've gotta go to the hospital. I don't know what he did to you, but you're obviously hurt really badly. Jay and I will go with you, and I'm sure Lieutenant Davies can spare a cop or two to guard your room."

Jeff looked up slowly, his tired, watery gaze running first over Adam, then Jay, then over the police gathered in the small, crowded lobby. He was exhausted. He just wanted to sleep, and forget any of this had ever happened.

"You two'll come?", Jeff asked, needing to hear it again before he'd believe it.

Adam and Jay both smiled. "Yeah, Jeff, of course."

"Okay, I'll go to the hospital."

Matt stood on the roof of the empty building across the street, watching. He saw them load his brother into an ambulance. He watched as Edge and Christian got into their rental to follow the paramedics to the hospital. He saw two police cars follow, sirens blazing.

"So", he thought, "Edge decided to squeal."

Matt grinned.

If Edge wanted to up the stakes, that was fine by him. He had no problem destroying Adam. It would actually be an enjoyable prelude to the things he had planned for Jeff.

Poor Jeffy. Poor Adam.

Matt laughed, his head seething with dark thoughts that had yet to fall into place, like a jigsaw puzzle made of razor blades. Soon he would know his path. Soon, he would finish what he had started tonight.

Just let them try to save his worthless brother.

Just let them try.

**AHHHH! OH NO! Matt got away! What an asshole Asshole Matt is. He's starting to lose his marbles, I think. Will he go after Edge next? What about Christian? What's Mark gonna do when he finds out about all of this? And will Jeff be ok? SO MANY QUESTIONS! This story was going to end, but I changed my mind, and I thought I'd write more, so you're stuck with Asshole Matt for a while longer, I think. So much to write, so little time! I'll try to get another update up in a timely fashion. Thanks for reading guys, and PLEASE SEND REVIEWS TO ME! I love them. They make me happy. :)**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: I was just remembering the reason I started writing this story in the first place. Matt and Jeff's **_**sweet**_** feud at Wrestlemania-time last year. Brother vs. Brother, Hot Guy vs. Hot Guy, the Contest To End All Contests! Evil Matt, the Black Cloud himself, was my inspiration and my muse. He whispered naughty things into my ear. :)**

**Fast forward to now, a year later. I still haven't come close to completing this damn story, and it's now going in a completely different direction than I'd originally intended (though Evil Matt still whispers bad things in my ear, hee hee). Matt turned face long ago, and Jeff isn't even with the company anymore. (sigh) What a difference a year makes…**

**Lucy Grayson, thanks! Mucho appreciated. :) Crystalgurl101, it's true, the plot is thickening into an ugly, gooey mess. Don't fall off of your chair just yet! There's more to come! :) Slashdlite, I had to throw the little twist in there. When I started to write the chapter, I fully intended to have Mark show up and kick Matt's ass. But I totally changed my mind. I just decided the story needed to be longer, and darker, and gorier, and more insane. And as for Jeff, you're right. Matt messed him up pretty badly. Poor Jeffro. :P I believe in you, stay tuned. Additional Jeff torture will commence at some point. You just won't know when it's coming… }:) Seraphalexiel, thank you! I'm not worthy, I'm not worthy! (Cheap joke, I know.) You're right, the Undertaker **_**is**_** kind of like Chuck Norris, though he's got a little Steven Seagal in him too. That guy is fucking crazy. It's true, Asshole Matt showed his true colors once again. He is a true dick. And as for the whip, I should've taken it a step further, and had him lick Jeffro's blood off of it. That would've freaked **_**everybody **_**out. Renna33, don't worry. Jeffy'll be fine, eventually… (insert evil laughter here) :)**

**Thanks to all who reviewed, and to anyone who's still sticking around to read this. It's much appreciated. **

**As always, the WWE owns all (except Jeff Hardy, who is owned by TNA now! WOO HOO! Thank God he's wrestling again!), I own nothing.**

**Enjoy the insanity!**

Jeff lay still, staring dully at the plain white wall.

He'd given up trying to fall asleep hours ago, though sleep was what he desperately wanted to do. His mind was constantly shifting and twisting, a machine that moved backwards. Memories drifted to the surface of his thoughts like bloated corpses, floating lifelessly in the black water. And yet, somehow, no matter how many times he replayed his ordeal over in his thoughts, he never came to find any of the answers he so urgently needed.

He wished his brother's betrayal made more sense, that Matt had explained it to him in terms that he could understand.

Because he didn't understand. He didn't understand how his brother could make his life a living hell, and never feel an ounce of remorse for it.

Jeff closed his eyes, exhausted. He felt like one of his destroyed paintings, torn and shredded, the once-vibrant colors now faded. Jeff knew that there was no replacing that vital quality once it was extinguished.

He hugged himself tightly, as if for protection, bringing his knees up to his chest. He felt somehow safer, less exposed, that way.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his eyes slid open again. He was greeted with the same view as before. A blank, white wall.

Bitterly, the young Hardy wondered if he was beginning to lose what was left of his mind.

Five days had gone by since he'd come to this place, and he couldn't stand it. He hated the scratchy, paper-thin sheets on his hard mattress, the flawless, sterile walls, the sickly-sweet smell of chemicals in the air.

He hated the pain he was in.

Most of all, however, he hated the pitying looks from Adam, Jay, and Mark. They always tried to disguise it behind tight-lipped smiles or idle chatter, but Jeff saw right through all that. Bitterly, he thought about what their skittishness meant. His friends must think he was pathetic and weak, and why shouldn't they? After all, Matt had forced him to play his game, and he'd lost. Over and over, he'd lost.

It was only understandable, he supposed, that they pity him.

The three men sat at his bedside in shifts, providing a constant, ever-vigilant presence. They ensured that he was never left alone, and for that the young Hardy had to admit that he was grateful. He wasn't sure he could deal with being by himself right now. The fear of Matt returning to finish what he'd begun was ever-present in his troubled thoughts.

Jeff never spoke to his stoic guardians. He was afraid of what he would say if he did. Instead, he simply lay on his side, and waited for the pain to end.

He heard Adam shifting around behind him, probably bored out of his skull. The high-strung man didn't do very well sitting still for any length of time.

Tired of staring at the same plain, white wall, Jeff allowed his weary eyes to slip shut. But he knew, even as sleep rushed towards him, that there would be dreams. He saw his brother's face, lurking around corners, in the cold pools of darkness just beyond the light. No matter how fast he ran, no matter the hiding place, Matt would hunt him down and hurt him again. It was inevitable. It was beyond his ability to control.

Dread covered him like a shallow pool of ice-cold water. Stifling the urge to whimper, Jeff pulled the thin bedsheets tightly around his abused frame, as if he was attempting to shield himself from something.

Shifting uncomfortably on the hard mattress, he prayed for one nights' uninterrupted rest.

* * * * * * *

Mark leaned heavily against the cold, white wall of the hospital, deep in thought.

He was thinking about his and Jeff's arrival at the hotel several nights ago, running those fateful three minutes over and over in his mind like a silent movie. He had gone to check in, leaving Jeff outside by the car, alone and vulnerable. At the time, neither of them had thought anything of it, of course. They had been exhausted, and eager to find sleep after a long drive.

Matt had planned his attack well.

Taker ran a hand back through his unruly mane of auburn hair, huffing loudly in frustration. How could he have allowed this to happen? Jeff had been under _his_ protection when that psychopath had grabbed him. He should have swept in, like the dark angel so many thought him to be, and taken his young friend back.

He should've helped Jeff.

Because he hadn't, that kid was lying there, a shell of the man he'd been before. Matt had _wrecked_ him. And for what? Jealousy over who was the better wrestler? The better man?

Mark's gaze darkened.

Matt would pay for this. He would pay, if Mark had to hunt him to the ends of the earth and back.

Pushing out from the wall, the Deadman began the long walk towards Jeff's room. It was time to take over for Adam at the kid's bedside.

Unwanted anxiety swirled within Taker's guts as he mulled over the young Hardy's state of mind. It had been about a week now, and his injured friend still hadn't spoken a word since he'd been admitted here, at least not that he'd heard about. He was hoping that tonight, Jeff would snap out of it.

The Deadman was hoping to find Jeff in a state of animated conversation with Adam when he arrived at the young man's room. Jeff would smirk, and make some wise-ass crack about him looking old, or his hair looking like a toupee that'd been made out of roadkill. And the three of them might get in a game of poker, if Jeff was feeling up to it.

The big man smiled grimly.

He knew, in his heart of hearts, that things didn't work that way. But it didn't mean he couldn't put it out there.

* * * * * * *

When Mark arrived at the small, nondescript room, he found Adam doing a crossword puzzle and Jeff lying, as usual, with his back to the door. He couldn't tell if the young Hardy was awake or asleep.

Mark gestured to Adam, indicating that he should join him in the hallway.

"How has he been today?", Mark asked, when the blonde wrestler exited the room and closed the door behind him, "Any change?"

Adam looked down. "He just lays on his side and stares at the wall. Jay and I try to talk to him, but he never says anything."

Mark grunted, but did not say anything in response to this news. It had, after all, been anticipated. He fully expected that Jeff would come out of his funk soon enough. He simply needed time.

After making strained small-talk, the Undertaker and Edge said goodbye. Sighing, Mark made his way into the room, his eyes on the pale, unmoving figure in the bed. He walked over to Jeff's bedside, his dark eyes heavy with sorrow.

"What am I gonna do with you, kid?", he whispered. His rough voice was tinged with sorrow, and regret.

Taker studied his friend's face, scowling at the dark bruises and swollen skin that were marring his boyish good looks. When he'd first been brought in, the big man had seen the ugly whip marks that would probably never completely fade from his back.

Taker turned away, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. He felt so helpless. Jeff's own brother had done this to him, and without a hint of remorse shown for it. He barely knew what to do in the face of that.

"Mark?" A desperate whisper, the sound of a small boy who'd been left alone in the dark.

Taker spun around, eyes wide.

Jeff's eyes were wide open, and he was looking up at Mark as if he wasn't quite convinced he was actually there. The big wrestler just stood there for a moment, staring down at his young friend. The Undertaker was unsure what he should say to break the uncomfortable silence. Jeff was looking up at him with a flat, glazed stared that made the Deadman extremely uncomfortable. He struggled to find any remnants of his friend in those dead eyes, feeling his stomach clench painfully when he saw nothing at all.

"Hey kid", he said gently, forcing a smile onto his grizzled face, "Took you long enough to wake up."

Jeff didn't react to the tender jibe. His expression remained completely impassive.

The Deadman moved to sit on the edge of the small bed, his gaze steady on Jeff's face.

"You're probably sick of lying down", said Mark, careful to regulate his tone so that Jeff wouldn't feel threatened in any way, "Let's shift you towards the wall so you can sit up for a while." When he reached out to take hold of Jeff's arms, however, the young man drew back violently, as if he'd been burned.

"Jeff?", prompted Taker, not sure how to proceed with his obviously-traumatized friend, "Kiddo, you know I ain't gonna hurt you."

Jeff said nothing. His face remained utterly expressionless. Finally, a breath. A narrowing of the eyes. "Why didn't you come for me?", he whispered, his voice so flat and emotionless that it sounded like another person altogether, "Why did you leave me there alone with him?"

Mark's heart broke when Jeff said that. Immediately, the Deadman felt foolish, and angry, and utterly, utterly useless. He had to fix this.

"Jeff", he said softly, almost tentatively, "I tried as hard as I could to track you down. Matt got ahead of me, though. I couldn't find you." Taker sighed, and suddenly looked very tired, and old, and worn down. The big man pushed a hand roughly through his auburn mane, moving stray hairs out of his eyes as he did so.

Mark's voice was quiet and full of remorse. He stared at the floor as he spoke, unable to meet Jeff's bloodshot eyes. "When I came back to the car and found you gone kid, well, I'm not gonna lie to you. I panicked. Rational thought just flew right out of the window. I kept picturing the worst-case scenario, over and over, and I just couldn't think straight. I should've called the police the second I found you gone. Instead, I ran off on some half-cocked chase through the back alleys of the city, sure that Matt would've gone that way." Taker sighed, and rubbed a hand across his weary eyes. "I'm sorry, kiddo. I did my best, but Matt beat me out that night. You paid the consequences for it."

"It wasn't your fault", the young Hardy said softly, his voice flat. He took a deep, shaky breath. "Matt just decided to go off the deep end, and I guess he decided I needed to join him there, whether I wanted to or not. Without you, there's no way I would've been able to survive all the bullshit he put me through. So don't go blaming yourself for anything." He sighed tiredly. "I mean, at least you were out there looking for me that night, right?"

Taker dropped a hand on his friend's shoulder, and gazed at him with serious black eyes. "You know, it's gonna be okay, Jeff", he said, "We're gonna figure all this out."

"I don't see how", replied the young Hardy, "My life is a fucking shambles. I'm afraid of everything, I don't trust anyone. I have nowhere to live, and, on top of all of this, my fucking _brother_ is trying to kill me! God dammit, Mark, I don't see how any of this can be figured out."

Mark looked at his young friend grimly. "Look at it this way, kid. Things can only go up from here."

Jeff didn't reply. He only stared forlornly at his clasped hands, which rested in his blanket-covered lap.

Mark patted his young friend's shoulder gently, careful to avoid the bandage-covered wounds from the whip. "Alright enough of this doom and gloom horseshit. How's about a game of poker, Hardy?", Taker asked, smirking. He pulled a worn deck of cards out of his jacket pocket and placed it on the bedside table.

Jeff stared at the older man for a moment, blinking in surprise at the change of subject. Slowly, a small, tight smile crossed his wan face. It was not genuine, which disappointed Taker slightly, but at least Jeff was trying.

"You're going down, old man", said Hardy, trying to get into the spirit of things.

Taker flashed him his best shit-eating grin.

"We'll see, kid. We'll see."

* * * * * * *

Matt lounged in the spacious hospital lobby, burrowing into one of the tasteful, well-stuffed armchairs they had placed in one of the sitting areas. He'd grabbed a newspaper at the door, and was currently pretending to read the Sports section as he kept a watchful eye on the elevators across the way.

Suddenly, Adam Copeland exited one of the cars, looking exhausted. Matt watched him through hooded eyes as he made his way across the lobby and towards the front doors. The older Hardy smirked as he realized how truly easy it would be to make his move tonight. Copeland's guard was obviously down. All he'd have to do would be to follow him a few blocks, and then…

Matt frowned. Not tonight. He had another reason for being here, and that would yield just as much satisfaction as taking down Copeland. Perhaps more.

Adam walked right past Matt, and out into the cold night, his head bowed against the chill wind.

Matt smiled. It was time.

Lowering the newspaper, he looked around the sparse crowd of people milling about in the lobby area. His gaze fell upon a lanky teenager, who was making his way towards the front doors with a purpose that only the young possess.

When the boy walked past him, Matt stood up, causing the youth to look over, startled.

"Can I talk to you a minute, kid?"

"No way, man", replied the boy, continuing on his way as if Matt had never interrupted him, "I've got places to be. Besides, I don't talk to perverts who try to pick up kids in hospital lobbies."

Matt grabbed the kid's arm. Before he could cry out for help, the older Hardy flashed $200 at the astonished teen.

"I am willing to hand this money over to you tonight if you run a little errand for me. You won't have to leave the hospital. I just need you to drop off a package to one of the rooms."

The kid hadn't stopped staring at the money. His eyes were as wide as saucers.

Finally, when Matt pocketed the bills, the spell was broken and the kid regained his powers of speech. He managed a sickly grin.

"So, man, uh, what room am I going to?"

* * * * * * *

"Royal flush", Jeff said proudly, showing his cards to an incensed Deadman.

"You cheating, kid?", grumbled Mark, who let his cards drop onto the flimsy bedside table they were utilizing for their game.

"I never cheat", Jeff replied, "I'm just good at this game."

With that said, he grabbed the pile of Skittles they'd been using as the pot, and began to happily munch on his winnings.

Mark stretched his sore back muscles, and watched Jeff practically inhale the pile of sugar-coated candy he'd bought from the vending machine. He was happy to see his young friend smiling again, even if he knew the candy and card game were only temporary fixes.

"Want some Skittles?", Jeff offered, holding out a handful of rainbow treats to his companion.

Mark shook his head. The young Hardy shrugged, as if to say "your loss", and swallowed a mountain of the rainbow-colored candies in one fell swoop.

"Jesus, kid, you've gotta pace yourself!", said Mark, pushing the remaining Skittles away from Jeff's reaching hand, "Save some for later. If the nurses come in here and find you in a sugar coma, I'm gonna get my ass reamed!"

Jeff pouted. "You suck, old man."

"Yeah, so I've been told."

Suddenly, there was a rap at the door. Both glanced at the doorway, expecting it to be one of the nurses making their hourly rounds. It was, rather, a teenaged boy neither recognized, standing with seeming reluctance in the hallway just outside their door.

"Wrong room, boy", said Taker dismissively, turning his attention back to the conversation with Jeff.

"Uh, nope, this is the right one", said the kid, moving tentatively into Jeff's room, "I have a package for the patient. Special delivery."

Undertaker stood, standing protectively in front of Jeff. "You fucking around, kid? Cause you picked the wrong room. We ain't in the mood for jokes here."

Taker could practically feel the anxiety coming off of Jeff, like a palpable wave of static electricity in the air. He lengthened his stance, and darkened his glare. This was the last fucking thing the kid needed right now.

The teen raised his hands, palms-out, in a gesture of peace. "Woah, man, you've got the wrong idea! Listen, some guy in the lobby paid me a boatload of cash to deliver this to your room." He pulled out a small, non-descript cardboard box that had been sealed with masking tape. "He said to give it to the patient, and that you would know who it was from when you opened it."

"I already have a damn good idea who it came from", growled Taker. The big man glared at the kid. "What the hell are you still doing here, kid? Waiting for a tip? Get the hell out!"

The teenager didn't need to be asked twice. He ran out of the room as fast as he could, nearly knocking over a nurse on his way to the elevators.

Taker sighed, and turned back to Jeff. The younger man was staring at the unopened package as if it was a coiled snake that was readying itself to strike. He couldn't blame the kid. God knows what sick shit Matt had thrown in there to fuck with the kid's head.

Mark took a seat next to Jeff on the bed, clutching the package in his large hands.

"I'll tell you what, kiddo,", said Mark gently, "I'll open it. That way, you won't have to look if you don't want to."

Jeff just stared at the floor, his eyes dull and his face ashen.

Taker, studied his young friend's downturned face for a moment, and finally decided that his silence could be construed as accord.

Slowly, the big man pulled the tape off the top of the cardboard box. Holding his breath in anticipation, he steeled himself, realizing that Matt could've placed anything inside to fuck with his brother's mind.

Throwing Jeff a small smile for support, the Deadman pulled back the flaps and gazed down into the box.

His initial reaction was relief, as he realized that there were no body parts, human or animal, inside. This was immediately followed by confusion. What could his little gift mean?

Matt had placed a backstage photograph of both Hardy boys, Adam, Jay, and himself, the Undertaker, in the box. It was a candid shot, taken earlier in their careers backstage after a house show. They all had beers in their hands, and were obviously enjoying themselves.

Taker reached in and picked the photo up, turning it over. There, written in Matt's frantic scrawl, was the following: "Poor Jeffy, he's all broken apart, much like his house, his dog, his life. I'm looking forward to seeing you again so we can continue our game. I had so much fun last time. And in the meantime, well, I'll have these others to amuse myself with. All lined up in a neat little row. One by one by one, they'll fall. And it'll be _your fault_, baby brother. See you soon."

"Son of a bitch!", growled Taker, crumpling the piece of paper in his fist.

"What is it, Mark?" Jeff sounded like he might be sick, though, at the same time, there was a fierce quality to his voice that the Undertaker rarely heard.

"You don't need to be seeing this, kid", said Mark, who threw the crumpled picture back in the box, "It ain't important. I'm gonna take care of it, so you don't need to be worryin' about it."

"I want to see what was in the box", Jeff said, his soft voice rimed with steel.

Taker sat on the edge of his bed and took hold of the young Hardy's chin, ignoring the fear that flashed across the younger man's face.

"Please, Jeff", he pleaded, "Just let me take care of it. You don't need to deal with this shit right now. You're already having nightmares. You're already beaten all to hell. You can't-"

Jeff tore his chin out of the larger man's grip. "Just show me the FUCKING box!", he panted, his eyes wild and dark with fury.

Mark sighed heavily, running a hand through his tangled hair in agitation. "Fine", he said quietly, "Fine, kiddo. I'll show you what's in there. But I'm gonna promise you, you won't like it."

* * * * * * *

"How's Jeff doing?", Jay asked as he stirred his White Russian absentmindedly.

The voice on the other end of the phone obviously gave him some bad news because he pushed his drink away and began to massage his temple, as if he had a throbbing headache.

Matt sat in the shadows of a nearby table, watching the despondent blonde with his sharp, beetle-like eyes. Undoubtedly, Hardy realized, Christian was talking to Adam.

"I'll be watching Jeff in the morning tomorrow", he said, sounding perhaps more tired than he'd meant to, "Yeah, I know… Yeah, I'm worried about him too. But Mark's with him. He'll be fine, at least for tonight. Look man, I've gotta go… Alright, I'll talk to you later. Yeah, bye."

He hung up the phone, and, without further precursor, picked up his drink and downed it in one huge gulp. Panting, he slammed the empty glass down on the bar.

It had been almost an entire week since Jeff had been brought in, and he'd only seemed to get worse, Jay thought to himself as he ordered another White Russian. He never spoke, barely ate, and stared continuously at the wall, as if watching it long enough would reveal some long-hidden secret. Jay was beginning to wonder if his friend would ever snap out of it.

Suddenly, Jay's dark thoughts were interrupted by a hand gripping his shoulder tightly, and something hard thrusting into the small of his back.

"What the-?", he began angrily, straightening up and half-turning.

"Hello, Jay." Matt's smooth, accented voice had been the last thing he'd been expecting to hear, and he froze in confusion and panic.

"M- Matt?", he managed to grind out after a moment.

"Ah, you Canadians. So articulate."

Jay swallowed nervously. "What the fuck do you want, Hardy?"

Christian could _feel_ Matt's smirk. "Feel that thing in your back? It's a gun." Jay tensed, his eyes wide.

"Jesus Christ!", he gasped, leaning into the bar and as far away from the gun as possible.

Matt pushed the gun barrel in harder.

"Move towards the door", Matt ordered in a no-nonsense tone, "I don't think I need to tell you what'll happen if you try anything, Jason."

Jay looked over his shoulder. "And where are we going once we've left the bar?"

Matt leered at his captive. "I'll guess you'll just have to wait and see."

**I just had to include the White Russian; I had a conversation about The Big Lebowski with a pal at work earlier in the day, and I guess I had Dude on the brain! Matt is officially turning into The Joker/Jack the Ripper, because he's making up bad poetry and sending it as a precursor to murder/beating/torture. Why, Matt, Why? Jeff is kind of a lame duck right now, but he's going to get pissed off enough and fed up enough eventually to fight Matt off. But I have a lot more planned first. Oh, and sorry for all the angst in this chapter, but it was necessary. I promise, there will be more action next time! REVIEW! Thank you. :)**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Welcome to the 15****th**** installment of "Papercuts", everyone! Sorry for the long period of time between updates; I need to knock that off. So I've been working on another fic recently, "Dry", where Jeff is playing Mr. Victim again. When I began to write this chapter, Victim Jeff Papercuts and Victim Jeff Dry began to overlap in my head, and I got all kinds of confused. I mean, who has it worse? Who should be acting more victimized? "Papercuts" is being stalked by his nutty bro, and "Dry" is being abused by a perverted vampire. Eh, I don't know. All I'm saying is, if Jeff seems to be especially whiny in this chapter, you can blame it on Gangrel. It's not my fault. ;)**

**As always, thanks to all who favorited, or took the time to review! **

**Esha Napoleon, much obliged! :) Slashdlite, don't worry. Jeff won't be a helpless ball of tears and ineptness forever. You can only take so much abuse before you snap, after all… I believe in you, glad you weren't snoring during the angsty parts. I wasn't sure if they were too much, and actually had several rewrites before I finally said, "To hell with it!" and just posted; thanks a bunch for your review. :) Onions, in Matt's unstable state of mind, a box-poo might not have been all that incredible to find. He is, after all, a bit crazy. I know finding only a measly photograph in there most likely disappointed your artistic sensibilities. Sorry about that. Seraphalexiel, yeah, Asshole Matt's truly earning his name. At least, I hope he is. I'm trying to build the assholishness, until he becomes **_**such**_** an asshole that he can truly earn the title of Matt, King of the Assholes. It has a ring to it. And Jeff as a battered housewife? LOL Now **_**that's**_** a mental image. Maybe he'll sell his story to the Lifetime network. LoveToRead911, keep reading to find out Christian's fate…. :)**

**As always, WWE owns all (except Jeff Hardy, who's property of TNA). I'm poor. I own nothing.**

**Enjoy the chaos!**

Matt Hardy paced across the hard, concrete floor, his gait slow and measured. The simple, repetitive action helped him to think. It cleared his head.

Matt rubbed at his jawline as he thought over his situation. The stakes were higher now in this game he was playing with Jeff. Much higher. He'd been forced to destroy his brother's property, to destroy his sense of well-being.

He'd been forced to shed his blood.

He took a breath as he recalled the exhilaration of whipping his despised sibling into painful unconsciousness. It was something he hadn't originally set out to do. But things had escalated and, in the end, Jeff had really brought it on himself. He always did.

Inexplicably, Matt's thoughts shifted suddenly to the Undertaker. The sentinel protecting his bastard brother, Mark Calloway seemed to be an ever-present thorn in his side these days. Providing Jeff with the encouragement he needed to recover. Shielding him from harm. Making him feel safe, and whole again.

Matt ground his teeth together, his eyes narrowing into slits. He didn't _want_ Jeff to recover. He wanted him to break apart like an old china doll smashing into pieces on the floor.

Perhaps, Matt mused, it was time to start thinking about getting rid of the Undertaker.

A soft rustling noise off to the side suddenly broke the older Hardy's train of thought. He forced himself to ignore it, eyes narrowing in annoyance at the disruption. He continued his relentless pacing, eyes set firmly on the ground.

Ragged, unsteady breathing began to echo through the silent, cavernous room. There was rustling, shuffling, and a quiet grunt, as if from exertion, or pain.

The older Hardy stopped in his tracks, looking off to his left.

"I told you to be quiet", he said calmly. He stared, cold eyes appraising his captive. Jay Reso whimpered, the sound muffled by a piece of duct tape that had been pushed securely across his mouth. He tried to move away, despite the fact that he was handcuffed to a support beam.

The older Hardy felt a stirring in his gut. The naked fear in Jay's eyes made him feel unbelievably powerful.

He smiled, thinking about what Jeff's reaction would be when he found out that Jay was missing. He was so weak. He would probably cry and crawl into a dark corner somewhere, whining about it being his fault.

The older Hardy sighed contentedly, a dark grin stretching across his hard features. There were so many ways to torture his little brother. It was so easy. It almost wasn't fair.

Matt's unpleasant smile faded, replaced by a cold and hostile gaze.

Jay watched with wide, frightened eyes as the older Hardy brother crouched before him. Matt's unkempt dark hair fell heedlessly into his face, shadowing his eyes and making him look more than a bit psychotic.

"Jason, Jason, Jason", Matt said in an admonishing tone, "You shouldn't have been so careless. I mean, it's rather ironic, isn't it? A man who plays guard dog to someone else all day long can't even watch his _own_ back." The older Hardy leaned in, so that he was practically nose-to-nose with Jay. He grabbed a fistful of chopped blonde locks and pulled, earning a glare from the bound man. "You had a choice, Jay. You could've helped me. But, just like everyone else, in the end, you chose _him_."

Before Jay could react, Hardy struck him across the face with a strength borne of rage and insanity. Blows began to rain down fast and hard, attacking Christian's vulnerable face, neck, and chest areas. He struggled, but it was a useless effort; with his hands bound behind him, the blonde superstar was completely unable to defend himself.

By the time Matt finally decided his captive had had enough, Jay was nearly unconscious, his head lolling around as he groaned in pain. Blood dripped out of his nose, and a gash on his forehead. Matt glanced at the blood on his fist. Grabbing the top of Jay's t-shirt, he wiped it off, cleaning his hand.

The older Hardy had a seat on a folding chair, leaning back in a casual, relaxed manner. Jay, still woozy, glanced up at him. There was something in his demeanor that made him look calmer now, less likely to strike out. Perhaps, he thought hopefully, that outburst had temporarily rid Matt of his bloodlust.

And then, he spoke, and Jay's fears sprang to life all over again. "We should send something to my dear brother, don't you think?", he said, his tone sinister. When he smiled, Jay just knew that there were bad things in store for him. "Just a little something", Matt continued, "To let him know that we're thinking about him. And that we wish he was here." Matt smirked as he pulled a hunting knife out of the knapsack near his feet.

Jay's eyes widened fearfully as Hardy advanced on him with the knife, smug smile set firmly in place. Christian's desperate protests were muffled by the duct tape.

Matt leaned over his prisoner, resting the knife at the junction of his neck and right shoulder. Jay froze, barely even breathing for fear of being cut. "I'm going to take the tape off", Matt said softly, "But you're not going to say a word. You're not going to plead, and you're not going to cry." Jay was very cognizant of the knife poised so near his throat. "The only reason I'm removing the gag, Jay, is so that I can hear you scream in pain. It'll be music to my fucking ears." Matt grabbed the tape and gave a great yank, at the same time pulling the knife away.

Jay didn't say a word. He was too afraid.

He simply watched, powerless, as Matt circled around behind him. He immediately tensed, waiting for that blade to tear through his flesh. He only heard soft, shuffling footsteps, however, and the rustling of Matt's jacket. A minute passed, and there was nothing. Silence. No hint of Hardy's intentions.

Suddenly, he felt Matt roughly grab his left hand. Two seconds later, a sharp, searing pain ripped through his hand, a pain that went all the way to the bone. It was agony.

"FUCK! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!", Jay screamed, struggling to free himself from Matt's grip, "Please….. stop…. PLEASE, FUCKING STOP!"

Distantly, he realized that his pointer finger was being sawed off. A wave of nausea twisted his guts.

"That's right, Jay. Scream for me", Matt said. He managed to sound both elated and animalistic; a disturbing combination.

After a minute of sawing and bleeding and struggling, Matt had managed to remove Jay Reso's pointer finger from his left hand. Hardy cradled it in his hands like a grisly trophy.

Jay nearly had to bite his tongue off to stop himself from screaming. He could feel the blood coating his hand, pouring out of the stump that had been his finger. Hopefully, Matt would staunch the wound before he bled to death.

"Let's patch you up, shall we, Jason?", said Matt suddenly, as if he'd read his captive's thoughts. He never took his eyes off of the severed finger. "There's fun to be had. And I'm anxious to get started."

"Why so serious?", quipped the Joker, brandishing a wide smile, a face full of scars, and a large gun.

Jeff and Adam were watching The Dark Knight on the small, hospital-provided television.

Jeff sighed loudly when commercials cut into the middle of an engaging action scene. "I hate basic cable", he said, scowling, "They cut out all the cool parts, and they keep interrupting the movie with stupid commercials."

"Yup. Sucks", Adam replied distractedly. He glanced down at his watch, then began to frantically chew his nails.

Noticing this strange behavior, Jeff shut the TV off and turned his gaze fully on the other man. "What's wrong, Adam? You've been acting weird for hours now. Why do you keep checking your watch?"

The blonde superstar appeared to agonize for a moment, as if he were wondering whether or not he should say anything to Jeff. _Fuck it, _he finally thought to himself, _If anyone deserves to know, it's him. _ Finally, he replied, "I'm worried about Jay." He paused, adding as an afterthought, "It's probably nothing, though."

Jeff suddenly began to feel slightly nauseous, anxiety building in his gut.

"Um… why are you worried?", Jeff managed to get out, his voice a weak imitation of its former self.

Adam grabbed a clump of his own hair and frantically yanked on it. "He was supposed to be here to watch you three hours ago, Jeff! I can't get a hold of him. He won't pick up his hotel phone, or his cell. That's just not like him."

Jeff swallowed, trying desperately to stay calm. "Have you called Mark?"

"Of course I have!", snapped Adam, "He said he'd get back to me. But that was hours ago, and-" The Rated R Superstar stopped abruptly. He looked at Jeff, who stared back at him with wide, frightened eyes. "Fuck, Jeffro, I'm sorry", he said, his tone genuinely remorseful, "I shouldn't have said anything. It's just, seeing what Matt did to you-"

"Jay's fine", Jeff interrupted, shaking his head, "I'm sure of it. Maybe he just forgot his phone in the room. Maybe Vince called him to some emergency meeting that we don't know about."

"It's possible. It's also possible that Matt's torturing him right now."

Jeff closed his eyes tightly, as if pained. "Please don't say that", he whispered, "Don't even fucking think it."

Adam pulled harder on that abused clump of hair. "I'm sorry, Jeff, but I'm a logical person, the type that subscribes to A plus B equals C. And in this case, we have a psycho on the loose, and a missing friend. If you ask me, that pretty much fucking completes the equation for you."

Jeff looked miserable. "Dammit, Adam, can't you be just a little more optimistic?"

"I see nothing to be optimistic about", Adam replied grimly, throwing another tense, sidelong glance to his watch.

Jeff looked away, letting his eyes wander over the streaked, fingerprinted glass in the windowpane.

"_One by one by one, they'll fall. And it'll be your fault, baby brother._" Matt's words repeated in Jeff's head, over and over, in a cruel litany.

The young Hardy stared, dazed, at the pale afternoon sunlight filtering into the room. It hurt his eyes, gave him a headache. Distantly, to the side, he heard Adam moving around in his frantic way, muttering to himself and shuffling about. Jeff wished he would sit down. He wished he would say something calming.

_My fault._

"Please, Mark", Jeff thought desperately, "find Christian before my brother does."

Mark stormed through the crowded city streets, a ball of pent-up nervous energy and rage. Adam had called him about three hours ago now, worried about Jay. He said he was late for his shift to watch Jeff at the hospital. He said he couldn't get a hold of him, that this never, never happened.

He had told the high-strung man to stay calm, had said that he would take care of everything. He'd also told him not to mention this to Jeff. The last thing the kid needed was bullshit like this complicating his recovery, especially when it could turn out to be nothing.

Mark glanced down at his watch. "Shit", he muttered. He quickened his step.

The Deadman was on his way to the police precinct Adam and Jay had been to several nights earlier, to speak with Lieutenant Davies, the officer the two had confided in. Christian had been missing for hours now, so Mark had decided that he wasn't going to fuck around with searching the city himself. No more vigilante bullshit. He would do this the right way, and take this to the professionals.

He glanced up at the street sign, grunting in frustration. Eight more blocks to go, and he was already late.

Suddenly, his cell phone rang. Fishing it out of his pocket, he glanced at the number. It was Adam calling. Again. Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Mark opened the phone, readying himself for a barrage of questions concerning his progress.

"Adam, I'm not even there yet-"

He was immediately cut off. "I DON'T GIVE A SHIT WHERE YOU ARE!", Adam said, his tone shrill, "YOU NEED TO FUCKING GET BACK HERE, RIGHT NOW!"

Mark suddenly felt the pit of his stomach drop out. "What's wrong?", he asked softly, as if he were afraid to hear the answer, "Is Jeff okay?"

"Well, yeah, he's fine, I guess, but he's freaking the FUCK OUT!" Mark could picture the other man tearing at his long, blonde hair as he spoke. "We got a little package from our friend Matt. He sent it directly to this room. It had a finger in it, Mark. A FUCKING FINGER!"

"Jesus Christ…", Mark muttered. He felt sick.

Suddenly, he heard Jeff's voice in the background, asking for the phone. He told the Deadman, "There was something else, Mark."

Jeff's voice was thick, as if he'd been crying.

"You okay, kiddo?", Mark asked gently, concern lacing his tone.

"He wrote an address on a little piece of paper", Jeff said, ignoring the Deadman's question, "240 W. Hammond St., Floor 2. "

Mark's brow furrowed in anger. "So the son of a bitch is either telling us where we can find Jay, or-"

"Or leading us into a trap", finished Adam, who was biting his nails into bloody stubs.

"There's a note on the back of the paper", Jeff said, "It says 'No police, or he dies'."

"It has to be a fucking trap!", Adam intoned, his voice slightly hysterical.

"Even if it is a trap", said Mark lowly, "we can't take the chance. Jay could be there, in need of our help. I'm gonna head over to that address. You two will stay put until you hear from me."

"Mark, you can't-", interrupted Jeff, sounding upset.

The Deadman ignored him, and continued speaking as if he hadn't been interrupted. "I'll call you as soon as I know anything."

"Mark! MARK, GOD DAMMIT-!", yelled Jeff, trying desperately to keep him on the phone. He was abruptly hung up on.

"FUCK!", yelled the young Hardy. He threw the cell phone across the room with all his strength, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Pulling his knees tightly into chest, Jeff stared at the empty white wall with sad, drained eyes.

Adam watched the younger man, not quite sure of what he should say or do.

Taking a breath, he moved towards the bed, cautiously, his eyes intent on Jeff. The young Hardy looked terrible. Evidence of the night he'd spent with Matt was still apparent on his face and neck, ugly bruises marring his pale skin. There were great dark circles under his eyes, proof that he had not been sleeping enough as of late.

Adam gingerly sat down on the bed, next to the young Hardy. Jeff didn't react. Slowly, so as not to startle him, Edge reached out and dropped a hand onto the other's shoulder. Jeff tensed under the older man's grip.

"Mark's gonna be fine, Jeff", Adam said, squeezing Jeff's shoulder gently, "If there's anyone in this world who can take care of himself, it's Mark Callaway. You don't have to be worrying about him right now. All you have to worry about is healing up, so we can get you out of this god-forsaken hospital, alright?"

Jeff turned to face Adam. He looked… better. Less manic. More like himself.

"Thanks, Adam", he whispered. As was his habit, he looked out the window, towards the city.

Adam nodded in response, feeling shitty. He'd lied to Jeff, right through his teeth. Damn right they should be worrying about Mark. He couldn't handle this alone.

Matt was well off the deep end. Playing into his game was not only dangerous, it was stupid.

But there was nothing they could do about that now.

All they could do, unfortunately, was sit, and wait.

Mark took a taxi down to West Hammond St. It was, as he quickly discovered, a perfect place to hide a kidnap victim. Old abandoned buildings and empty warehouses lined the streets, which were, by and large, populated only with derelicts sitting in alleyways and drug dealers doing business in the shadows.

No one would've noticed two young men entering one of these buildings in the dead of night.

Once again, Matt had proven himself an intelligent adversary.

Grumbling to himself, the Deadman began attempting to locate #240. He quickly came upon the empty brick building, which appeared as if it had been, at one time, a shoe warehouse. All of the entrances and windows had been boarded shut, so he found a side doorway and pulled the plywood from it, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

Moving into the dark, dust-filled room, he listened for any noises that might alert him to Matt's presence. The building was as silent as a tomb, so he moved on towards the metal staircase at the other end of the vast room, hoping that Jay was here, and alright.

Mark walked onto the second floor, trying his best to remain as quiet as possible. A vast, empty room spread out before him, disappearing into shadow towards the far wall. He strained his eyes, trying to see if Jay was here. Trying to find any hidden traps. Nothing stuck out to him in the gray darkness, so he slowly moved into the room, every muscle in his body tensed and ready for a fight.

Suddenly, there was a slight shuffle, as of cloth rubbing together, or skin moving against skin. Mark tensed, listening.

"Where the fuck are you, Matt?", he asked coldly, his voice echoing off of the brick walls, "Come out, and let's do this shit like men."

"Mark?…" It was barely a breath, but Mark heard Jay whisper his name.

"Jay? Hang on a minute. Fuck it's dark in here…" Mark pulled out a pocket flashlight he had attached to his keyring. Shining it around the room, he managed to locate the younger man, who was lying on the floor near the far end of the room.

He was in bad shape.

"Oh my god", Mark said under his breath, as he knelt next to Jay.

Christian was beaten to a pulp. The skin around his eyes was swollen nearly shut, and he was bruised all over. His shirt was torn nearly to shreds, and through the tatters Mark could see deep lacerations on his chest and stomach. His eyes wandered down to Jay's left hand. The pointer finger was missing, and the remaining stump had been crudely bandaged over with duct tape.

It took the Deadman a moment to realize that Jay was lying in a small pool of blood.

"Jesus Christ…", Mark growled.

He began fishing around in his pocket for his cell phone.

Mark suddenly realized that he was feeling extremely uneasy about this whole situation. Why would Matt tell them where to find Jay, then offer no resistance when they arrived to rescue him? It made no sense. But then again, Matt's actions in the past months hadn't really made any sense to anyone, save Matt.

Pulling out the phone, the Deadman began dialing 911. He needed to get Jay to a hospital. The younger man had passed out, and he was unsure of how much blood he'd lost.

He'd have to wait until later to make Matt Hardy pay for this.

It had been over an hour since Jeff and Adam's panicked phone call to Mark. The Deadman had not called them back yet, and tension in the small hospital room was steadily mounting. Adam was pacing back and forth relentlessly, while Jeff stared morosely out of the window. Neither spoke. There was really nothing to say.

Suddenly, Adam's phone rang, loud as a claxon in the heavy silence blanketing the room.

Adam quickly answered, figuring it must be Mark calling to give them an update.

"Hello?"

"Adam." It was Jay's voice, low and hoarse. He sounded scared.

"Holy shit, Jay!", Adam exclaimed

Jeff sat up upon hearing this, his attention suddenly riveted.

"What's going on, Jay?", Adam asked excitedly, "Where are you?"

"Listen, I can't answer any questions now. I escaped from Matt, but I know he's following me." Jay paused for a moment. "Oh shit, I think I just saw him, a few blocks behind me, Adam!" He sounded as if he were on the verge of tears.

"Jay, listen-"

"No, I can't talk anymore, I have to run!", said the frantic voice on the phone, "I'm almost at the hospital, Adam. Will you meet me at the edge of the parking lot in 5 minutes?"

Adam glanced over at Jeff, who didn't appear thrilled at the prospect of being left alone right now. "Um, Jay, I'm not sure I can leave-"

"Please!", begged Jay, "Just in case he gets to me before I can reach the hospital doors! He has a gun, Adam."

Adam glanced at Jeff once more. He sighed, his shoulders sagging in defeat. "Alright, Jay, 5 minutes. Move your ass!"

He realized he had been hung up on. Sighing, he prepared himself to leave.

"Don't go", said Jeff, his tone somewhere between earnestness and desperation.

"Jeff, I'll only be a few minutes-"

Jeff leaned forward and grabbed Adam's arm, his eyes pleading. "I'm begging you, Adam. Don't go! This has my brother written all over it."

Adam gently pulled his arm out of Jeff's grasp. "Maybe so. But my best friend is out there alone, and he needs my help. I have to go. I'll be as quick as I can, Jeff. Just stay in the room, okay?"

Jeff watched Adam run out the door, towards the elevators that would take him down to the street level. He had a bad feeling about this. There was something very wrong with this situation, though he couldn't put his finger on it.

He looked out the window, wondering where Mark was.

Suddenly, he heard soft, padding footsteps entering the room. He jerked his head towards the sound.

Matt stood near the door, watching him with a cold smirk. The very sight of his brother made Jeff's blood go cold. He stared, wide-eyed, as Matt slowly shut, and locked, the door.

"Hi, little brother", Matt said, moving towards the bed, "You know, you are a hard person to get in touch with."

Jeff didn't reply. He continued to regard his brother in frightened silence. He scooted back against the wall when Matt sat on the bed, trying to get as far from his insane sibling as possible.

"It's a shame that your little 24 hour-a-day guard system didn't work out, Jeffro", Matt said, "Adam ran out of here to play hero at the first hint that Jay might be in distress. Too bad he never considered that the whole thing might be a little smoke-and-mirrors act."

Matt brandished a small tape recorder. He hit the rewind button, and then played the tape.

It was Jay's terrified voice, begging Adam to meet him in the parking lot. Saying that Matt had a gun. The fear in that voice was real. The exhaustion, the pain, was real. What horrors had Matt put him through to force him to record this tape?

"Where's Jay?", asked Jeff, trying desperately to keep the fear out of his voice, "What've you done with him?"

Matt laughed. "I didn't kill him, if that's what you're worried about. He's at that address I sent you."

Jeff looked at his brother. "So now, you're a serial kidnapper who tortures people and cuts off body parts."

Matt stared back, his expression unreadable.

"What do you want, Matt?", asked Jeff, sounding very tired all of a sudden, "Why are you here?"

Matt leaned towards his brother, his movements as quick and controlled as those of a snake's. He reached out and grabbed Jeff's throat, his large hands encircling the bruises they'd made days before. Jeff was frozen as his brother gripped his neck, unable to fight back.

"You want to know why I'm here, Jeff?", asked Matt, his tone vicious. He began to squeeze, delighting in the soft choking noises emitting from Jeff's throat. "It's because I enjoy seeing you like this. I needed to see you at your lowest. Lying in a hospital bed, alone, scared, and helpless." Matt smiled, and increased the pressure on Jeff's throat. The younger Hardy clawed at his hands, trying desperately to pull them off, but Matt was stronger.

"Anyone still stupid enough to be your friend after this is going to suffer", Matt said, "And that will be on your head, not mine, because you were too selfish to warn them away."

Matt wouldn't let up at all. Jeff felt himself passing out. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe.

"I beat the shit out of Jay", Matt said, smiling happily, "I whipped him, over and over again, with that braided leather whip, until blood ran in pools onto the floor. I tortured him until he couldn't scream anymore. But you know what, Jeffy? None of it made me truly happy. Because it wasn't you at the end of that whip. It wasn't you being turned into pulp by my fists. Your time is coming, little brother. But not yet. I have some scores to settle first." Matt scowled, his grip on Jeff's neck tight as ever. He leaned down, his breath hot on his younger brother's face. "You tell Adam that he's next."

Jeff's eyes rolled back in his head.

Unconsciousness claimed him.

**Adam's in trouble! Matt's being an asshole! Jay's in the hospital! Jeff's a battered Hardy! And Mark… well, no one fucks with Mark, so he's fine, I guess.**

**Tune in next time! I love REVIEWS… ;)**


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